


That Which Yet May Be

by Larathia



Series: VLD S5+ AU [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Post-Season/Series 04, ship free - Freeform, speculative season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-04 15:52:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 52,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13368021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larathia/pseuds/Larathia
Summary: In the darkness between S4 and S5, came...this meandering monstrosity of a speculative fic.  Ship-free and written largely to stop myself from twitching too much between seasons, TWYMB focuses (mostly) on two fan theories of the time; "Is the Shiro in S3/4 a clone" and "if so, what happens to the team lineup", which includes as a not-insignificant side thing, "and what the effing f* is with Keith's head".  Along the way were several 'oh that looks interesting' diversions, and the ending is a season ending rather than a series ending - after all, even after S5, there's still much more Voltron to come.  Updated regularly until S5 premiered, it's self-confessed, utterly hopeful AU.





	1. I think it's time we had a little chat...

The party, it was generally agreed, was _epic_.

The nearest green world to Naxzela (which no one particularly wanted to party on, in case Haggar came back) became ground zero for the Voltron Coalition to blow off steam. Ships landed wherever there was room, hatches open to share whatever variant of moonshine and food goo they happened to have.

It would only have lasted a few hours – once the adrenaline rush of near death wore off - but as word spread of the victory, ships from worlds in the Liberated Third started showing up with gifts of better food and even more drink for the victors, as well as seeking if possible a chance to speak with the Paladins about what to do next. The Lions had landed in a star formation, each facing the others, and the circle on the ground between their impassive stares was the heart of the celebration.

The Paladins rode the nervous energy as much as the next being, and got bounced around, cornered, talked at, and (in Pidge’s case) picked up and held over people’s heads to be cheered at.

While he was sure she _hated_ it, Matt was rather glad people could just pick his sister up and hold her high. It made her a lot easier to find in the crowd that was just getting louder and more boisterous as the hours passed. She seemed happy – even relieved – to see him, shaking off congratulatory arms to give him a hug. “Matt! I’m really glad you made it out okay. I swear, when I heard the cannon wiped out a third of the fleet -”

He was happy to hug her back. “I know, right?” he said. “The Blades really saved our butts back there. I should go back and get a sample of that asteroid we hid behind. But _speaking of_ -”

Matt didn’t get a chance to finish; Lance emerged from the celebratory crowd to snag Pidge by the arm. “C’mon,” he told her, and “Sorry Matt. We’ve gotta go talk to Lotor.”

Matt deflated a bit as His Sister, The Green Paladin, got dragged off before he could ask her. _Did you see? Did you see what happened?_

~*~

The Blades of Marmora were at this point nothing if not accustomed to the reactions of the Coalition. They were ‘good guys’, yes. On the right side of history, so to speak. And they were Galra.

They stayed around the edges of the zone they’d quickly (if informally) marked off as ‘that bit of the chaos where the Paladins were’. Watching, mostly with their masks on because the sudden sight of a Galra face had proven a bad thing for several celebrants.

Voltron and its Paladins had to be protected. Sometimes, from themselves. It would be far too easy for an assassin to arrive in this chaos, get close enough to do real harm. And of course, there was

“Lotor,” said Kolivan quietly, watching the little paladin rainbow from a small hill. “This will be delicate.”

Keith kept his mask on. Kolivan was no longer sure why – and even less sure _Keith_ knew why, either. It could be solidarity – refusing to join in a celebration where his comrades were less than welcome. It could be fear of the sort of social gathering he’d never been all that good at. It could be withdrawal or self-separation from the Paladins. It could be all or none of those things.

His mind, however, was on task. “I don’t trust him. He’s up to something.”

Kolivan wholeheartedly agreed, but, “He did save your life.”

“Not for my benefit,” Keith said with certainty. “I don’t think he even knew I was there.”

Most people hadn’t. Kolivan did, because Keith had offered a full report. Kolivan had to wonder if Lotor _had_ known. If Lotor intended to use it. “Will the Paladins bargain with him?”

Keith’s mask looked upward a bit while he considered it. “They’ll listen. I don’t know if they’ll believe him. It depends what he has to say.”

“Then now is the window of opportunity,” Kolivan decided. “Go. Look over his ship. No trackers, but gather all the information you can.”

Keith nodded, sprinting quickly for the edges of the crowd. Kolivan returned his attention to watching – from a distance – the movements of the Paladins, and those angling to get closer to them.

Keith had nearly died. Kolivan didn’t _like_ it, but couldn’t fault Keith’s reasoning. Right up until Lotor’s arrival, it had been the most logical, effective probable course. The moment the sacrifice wasn’t _required_ , Keith had retreated. If it were any other Blade, Kolivan wouldn’t have any concerns. But it _wasn’t_ ‘any other Blade’. It was a former Paladin of _two_ Lions, and a very young man who had repeatedly demonstrated a willingness to risk his life. And whether or not the Paladins had encouraged Keith’s departure from their ranks, Kolivan suspected that if Keith _had_ died in that fight things would be a lot less celebratory right now.

He fought like a Galra, thought like a Galra...but Keith’s heart was human, like most of the other Paladins. Kolivan was learning a lot about humans.

~*~

Furniture, at present, was whatever people had brought off their ships. The Lions didn’t have any, so their gathering mostly found handy trees to lean on. “You wanted to talk,” said Shiro. As an opener, it remained steadfastly neutral.

“Indeed,” said Lotor, with a graceful but not particularly deep bow. “But you have me at a disadvantage. Perhaps introductions are in order. I am Prince Lotor, son of Zarkon and Honerva. And you are…?”

“We know who you are,” said Hunk. “I mean, you did ask to talk and all.”

“He means he wants to know who _we_ are,” Pidge clarified, and got it over with quickly. “I’m Pidge. That’s Shiro, Lance, Hunk, and Allura.”

Allura was stunned enough not to correct Pidge to add her title. _Honerva. He’s half Altaean._ He even _looked_ rather Altaean, though he still had the purple skin common to Galra.

Lotor, too, seemed surprised. “Allura – _Princess_ Allura?” he asked. The bow he gave her was somewhat deeper and more courtly, earning him Lance’s instant and permanent distrust. “A pleasure to learn you still live, Princess. And to see your fighting spirit.”

Allura’s lips pursed; it could be Lotor was simply employing court manners, or it could be something else, and before Lance decided to take matters into his own hands and start a brawl – or a war – Shiro intervened with a bland, “Yes, amazing. You’ve asked for this meeting, and I doubt it was just to introduce yourself. You have our thanks for your assistance – but what is it you _want_?”

“For now, I would be happy for you to consider me as not your enemy,” said Lotor. “I think we might work well together – surely, you have heard by now that I am not favored by my father or his regime. But of course, we must begin with small steps. I would like to think my assistance in the battle is a valid token of my lack of animosity toward you, and of the assistance I might provide your cause.”

~*~

Marmora armor stood out among the revelers, as did a Marmora mask, but it wasn’t hard for Keith to get clear of observers. He’d had a lot of practice recently at infiltration, and it wasn’t like anyone at the party was particularly alert.

Lotor hadn’t exactly plunked his ship down in the heart of the party, either. Keith _should_ have had to ask around, see who’d seen it land. But he didn’t. He could _sense_ it. An energy, tingling on the edges of his senses. Like sensing the Lions, and that was disturbing all on its own.

The ship was not guarded. Lotor had come alone. That was _also_ disturbing. Was he that certain of his welcome – or did Lotor simply have no choice?

Keith slipped a small scanner from his suit, putting the ship between himself and the party in general. Lotor was unlikely to stay, and could return to his ship at any time. “Kolivan. Are you getting this?”

“ _Yes,”_ Kolivan responded over the commlink. _“Not unlike the readings from the Lions. Or that new quintessence we ran into.”_

“I can sense it, too,” said Keith quietly. “Like them. There’s some kind of energy just sheeting off it.”

“ _That would explain the power of its weaponry,”_ said Kolivan. _“Get clear. I believe Lotor has concluded his overture. We’ll convene at base.”_

“Roger that,” said Keith. When the scanner had finished recording, he pocketed it and ran for his commandeered Galra fighter.

~*~

“So, do we believe him?” asked Hunk. “Are we going with that?”

“Ohhh no,” said Lance firmly, scowling. “He was _way_ too slick. Just because he’s having a fight with his dad doesn’t mean he’s on _our_ side.”

“On the other hand,” Pidge mused, “he can’t do us a lot of harm right now. I mean, he came alone, he’s just got one ship, and Zarkon seems to want to kill him. But he _could_ be a big _help_ , if he wanted to be. We know not all the Galra think Zarkon’s on the right track. If Voltron is the symbol for the Coalition, maybe Lotor wants to be one for the internal Galra resistance.”

“I’m not entirely sure about that, Pidge,” said Allura slowly. “He’s not a pure blooded Galra. The more powerful members of the Empire might _never_ follow him. And there’s something about him...” she trailed off, frowning.

“Like _what_?” demanded Lance. “Don’t tell us you’re falling for that charming act!”

Allura gave Lance a patient, yet wholly aggravated look. “Calm _down_. I mean there’s an _energy_ about him. Didn’t you sense it? If Haggar is his mother, as he says, he may know more of his parents’ plans than he’s saying. Or suspect, at least.”

“What about you, Shiro?” asked Lance, not particularly mollified. “What do you think of his offer?”

“I think both Pidge and Allura may have a real point,” said Shiro slowly. “The old guard of the Empire might never follow him. But Lotor might be thinking that if he sides with us, he can shear off some of our allies to build a rebellion that puts him on the throne. Allies like the Blades of Marmora. He has, right now, nothing to lose and everything to gain by throwing in with us. If we accept him, he’ll probably be a good ally. Until the minute after that changes, anyway. He did just save several star systems. If we say no, we may need a better reason than just not liking him.”

“The Blades wouldn’t leave the Coalition,” said Hunk, but his tone was worried. “Not with Keith in there. Would they? I mean, he’d totally tell us.”

The group fell silent as they considered that. Keith hadn’t had a word for them that wasn’t mission oriented in months. But it wasn’t like Keith was some kind of chatterbox prone to telling everyone the latest gossip.

“We can always talk to Kolivan about it,” said Shiro, matter-of-factly. “We should probably rejoin the party, anyway.”

But when they’d made their way back to the party, still in full swing, the Blades were long gone. No one could remember quite when they’d left.


	2. I Really Didn't Want To Say This, But

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad news, both delivered and not.

Matt had to give it some thought, which – post-party-hangover – wasn’t a quick or easy process. The party had not so much broken up as collapsed in exhaustion and stupor, with the ships departing as and when they woke up sober enough to find their crew and gear. The Lions were long gone when he woke (his head was under a bush for some reason; as he sat up, he decided it had been a half-drunken attempt to hide from dawn), but the Paladins weren’t exactly known as party animals.

He made his way back to his ship for a shower, a change, and a bottle of water, and after that felt human enough to think clearly. Pidge needed to know. He didn’t _know_ Keith – not personally, not well. But he knew Pidge _did_ , that all the Paladins did. The whole Coalition knew _of_ Keith, really, after all those publicity shows the Paladins had done. The former Paladin (although of what Lion seemed to be a matter of debate); the human among the Blades. The backstory was admittedly rather confusing for a not- _entirely_ -sobered-up brain, but it was still clear he needed to get hold of his sister. That Pidge would want to know. Or, perhaps more relevantly, as he drank his water and ran the ship’s preflight, that Pidge would be very upset if she found out from someone else.

But how did you call someone and say _so your friend tried to kamikaze that cruiser yesterday_?

...Maybe...maybe you just said it?

Sighing, Matt lifted the ship up into orbit, plotted a course. The work of the rebellion continued, after all. Once properly underway, he opened a comm. “Calling the Castle of Lions...”

~*~

The paladins were silent for several minutes after Matt ended the call.

“Did...we do this?” asked Hunk carefully, staring at his hands. “I mean I know we haven’t talked with him much, but...”

“But he’s never been the...talking... _sort_...” said Allura, just as worried.

“But he pulled up,” said Lance, grabbing any reassuring thread. “And we _talked_ to him. He’s fine. He’s okay.”

“No,” said Shiro flatly, and the tone was so hard to read that the others just stared at him. “Whatever else is going on, this was _not_ Keith being ‘okay’.”

Pidge’s arms crossed over her chest. “I think it’s Keith being a Blade. I mean...this is what they _do_ , isn’t it? When Voltron’s in danger – when _we’re_ in danger...this is what they _do_.”

“But we let him go,” said Lance, on edge now. “ _That’s_ how he took it? We’ve got one extra paladin, here, you go _dive at a cruiser_?”

“I should have given up Blue the moment Shiro returned,” lamented Allura quietly. “It’s not as if I had nothing to do before, the ship still needs me, we still need the teludav -”

“Do we even know if that would _work_?” asked Lance. “Blue shut me out, Allura. I can’t go back to her if she won’t take me. We don’t know that Red would take Keith back either. I mean – Red tried to tear apart the Blade’s base for Keith, but...I mean if _anyone_ was going to sense what was happening, wouldn’t Red?”

“We were Voltron at the time, though,” Pidge noted – worried and upset, but thinking her way through it. “Red _couldn’t_ have come for him. And this wasn’t him being endangered, this was him _putting himself_ in danger. Maybe that’s a different thing.”

“We gotta go get him though right?” asked Hunk. “I mean...next time we probably won’t have a sudden swooping Lotor around. If this is Keith being a Blade, I don’t think I’m cool with him staying there.”

Pidge, Allura, and Lance were on board with that idea, but Shiro – still sounding odd, not-quite-there – said, “And tell him what, exactly? What can he do _here_? There’s no Lion for him to pilot. He can’t work the teludav. At least with the Blades he’s helping the cause. And that clearly matters a _lot_ to him. Matt even said if Keith hadn’t been there the second zaiforge cannon would have wiped out the fleet. And that wasn’t enough for him. He took a Galra fighter to attack the cruiser.”

And once again the others could only stare. It was a horrible, _horrible_ combination of Shiro making perfect sense, and the actual words Shiro was saying adding up to no sense whatsoever.

“So….we _did_ do this, then,” said Hunk miserably.

“No,” said Lance. “I’m not buying that. We _told_ him he can come back anytime. I remember that really well. _Any. Time_. I _don’t_ remember telling him ‘don’t come back because there’s not a place for you here’. We’ll _find_ a place for him.”

“One better for everyone than where he is now?” asked Shiro quietly. “He’s been our liaison with the Blades since the start. With them he’s been instrumental in acquiring the intelligence we’ve used for every major effort, including the one we just finished. What can he do, here, on this ship, that would matter _more_? Or even just as much?”

“Not be dead?” said Hunk. “I dunno about you guys, but I’d say that matters just as much.”

“I think the point Shiro is making is that Keith might not see it that way,” said Allura sadly. “And he is Galra. He’s...among his own, with the Blades.”

“He is not,” said Lance. “Look, I know he’s got Galra blood and the handprint and all that, but he’s from _Earth_. He went to Galaxy Garrison! This stuff’s as new to him as it is to us!”

“He got kicked _out_ of the Garrison,” Pidge corrected, watching Shiro. “And he wasn’t exactly living in the loving arms of a big family. Or a house with indoor plumbing.”

“My point stands,” said Lance quickly. “He was as new to all this as the rest of us. It’s not like he grew up celebrating Galra Christmas.” He paused. “Or whatever it is they do.”

“My point stands too, Lance,” said Shiro. “Keith’s not going to come back unless there’s something to come back _to_. And before you start, you can’t speak for Red. The Lions choose their own Paladins, and Red chose you.”

“Red chose Keith first,” said Lance flatly, angry now. “I’d be as useless around here without a Lion as Keith would be, but I wouldn’t go _diving at Galra cruisers_ over it. Black took _you_ back.”

“I said _no_ , Lance,” said Shiro shortly. “We can’t play games like that with the Lions. Everything depends on our bonds being as strong as they possibly can with them. If you think of something _else_ , I’m all ears.” He pushed himself into motion, heading for the doors.

When he’d gone, Lance snapped, “You know, I don’t think I care what he thinks. We need to drag Keith back here. If we sit around arguing until we’ve got a good bribe he could be too dead to take it.”

Pidge adjusted her glasses. She was still watching the doors Shiro had gone through. “I agree, but we may have bigger problems. I think something’s up with Shiro.”

Hunk pursed his lips. “You mean, aside from a headache? I just figured he was hung over.”

“I’m not sure yet,” mused Pidge. “Lance...could you come up with a plan for getting Keith away from the Blades? One that _doesn’t_ involve pissing them off? We do need them as allies.”

“Me?” asked Lance, startled. “I’m not Plan Guy. If anything that’s you and Shiro.”

Pidge nodded toward the door Shiro went through. “And he just said he wants you to think of something else. I need to run some stuff past Hunk and I don’t want to translate.”

Allura frowned then. “Like what?” she asked.

Hunk, if anything, seemed just as surprised as Lance at Pidge’s request. But he did say, “Maybe let us talk. Cos I’m not going to let Keith stay with the Blades. Not after this. I don’t care if he’s Galra, and I don’t care if he hates us for it.”

That level of commitment seemed to reassure Lance – and worry Allura even more. “I’ll...go help Lance with the ‘let’s not lose our best ally over this’ part of the plan, shall I?” she asked, and headed off with Lance.

Hunk’s arms folded across his chest. “Okay. You’ve got what you wanted. Spill.”

Pidge looked up at him, worried. “I think that might not be Shiro.”

~*~

The Blades didn’t really _gather_. Their work was too dangerous to go around making friends with everyone. But the victory – while positive, while certainly the greatest advance made in the history of the Blades of Marmora – was not celebrated.

Keith stayed on the fringes of conversations, as a general rule. If he asked questions, he kept them to the point and short, and kept his answers to questions – usually someone asking about the Paladins – as nonspecific as possible. He’d learned from Regris’ death. _All_ the Blades were dead men walking. It would just hurt ...and hurt a hell of a lot… to get attached. He left it to Kolivan to remember names.

But he did _listen_. Keith had more questions than the Blades would ever willingly answer. Questions about the luxite blades, about which Blade had been sent to Earth and why, and about Galra in general. Since he couldn’t ask them directly, he stayed near the other Blades and listened.

The victory at Naxzela had shaken the Blades, and shaken them _hard_. The empire of ten thousand years had just been trimmed down by a _third_.

_Zarkon will strike back. He has to. This is too great a blow to let stand._

_We’ve dedicated our lives to taking Zarkon down. Have we ever been this close before?_

_What about Lotor?_

_Zarkon let Naxzela fall to chase Lotor. I don’t think we can afford to use him as anything but a distraction._

_If not Zarkon, and not Lotor – what of the Empire at the end of this?_

Keith listened, nodded where he agreed and it seemed appropriate, stayed still where he didn’t. This wasn’t good. The Blades had fought this war for thousands of years, every Blade living in the knowledge that they’d likely die before the war was won. Overnight, that had changed.

Hope was a strange and terrifying thing to a dead man walking.

Keith didn’t think the paladins would understand. Voltron  _was_ Hope. That was half the point. Find the solution that brought everyone home. They had families back on Earth to return to, fight for, this was their war as much as it was anyone else’s. They had no intention of dying in it, no acceptance of the possibility. 

No. That wasn’t...fair, he conceded, tucking himself against a wall to think. Shiro definitely understood. He would have to, after everything. Kerberos, his  _arm_ , and Black... Shiro just wasn’t interested in indulging Keith’s theories any more. And Lance ... _might_ . There had been that talk, Lance offering to step down – as if he could decide where Red’s loyalty would be. But he hadn’t been wrong about the war. 

Would he understand  _this_ , though?

That was where it fell down, really.  Lance had a family. Apparently a really  _big_ one. That was a lot to go back to. A lot to lose. A lot to fight for. Keith didn’t think Lance had it in him to really make that leap; to understand what a cause meant to someone who had  _nothing else_ but that.

Maybe it wouldn’t matter. Zarkon could still strike back. There were still entire fleets of cruisers out there, and Voltron could only be in one place at a time. Zarkon had only to spare a fraction of his attention from hunting Lotor to take back everything the coalition had won.

It would destroy a lot of the coalition, that loss of hope. But the Blades were used to operating without hope.

Keith didn’t like it, but it was looking like a one-or-the-other situation might be quickly approaching.


	3. Have You Ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calling the hippo that's *not* in the room...

“Yeeaaaah….you’ve lost me,” said Hunk.

Pidge didn’t sigh, or make a face, which if anything was a solid indicator of how serious she was. “Remember when Shiro was worried about his memories being affected by the Galra? You were the one that noticed first – it’s _totally_ possible for the Galra to have done that. They took Shiro’s arm. Replaced it with tech that’s wired _right up into his brain_.”

“Yeah, okay,” said Hunk slowly, grabbing a chair. “But seriously. You’re talking about a lot of planning there. I mean even if we’re assuming that that’s really Shiro, just maybe rewired, why wouldn’t they ...flip the switch or whatever during the Naxzela fight? I mean I don’t know if you noticed but we came _really_ close to buying it. And I mean Shiro wouldn’t even have needed to go all moustache-twirling and purple about it.”

Pidge blew out a breath. “Good point,” she conceded. “On the other hand, though, _we_ didn’t win that fight. It wasn’t us. It wasn’t the coalition either, in the end. If Lotor hadn’t turned up when he did, we’d have _lost_. Huge. And we already know Zarkon really wants Lotor dead. Maybe Shiro wasn’t activated because he didn’t need to be – and then afterward there wasn’t any point in blowing his cover?”

“Hmmmm,” mused Hunk. “Okay. Maybe. But why are we arguing this at all? I mean...he’s still _Shiro_. He doesn’t deserve this kind of thing from us, Pidge. It feels really...disloyal. He’s been through a lot. Maybe that’s what you’re seeing?”

“I don’t know what _you_ saw,” said Pidge quietly. “But _I_ just saw the one guy on this team that’s _always_ stood up for Keith go off to take a _nap_ after being told Keith almost committed suicide.”

“Now hang on,” said Hunk, worried now. “That’s not what I saw at all. I mean you heard him. And he’s right. Keith _has_ to have something to do. And we don’t have anything.”

“He’s not wrong,” Pidge nodded. “But it’s not what the man who went with my father and brother on the Kerberos mission would have said. It’s not what the man who went with us to fight Zarkon would have said either. And that’s my point, Hunk.” She frowned. “And it gets worse the more I think about it. I mean – assume I’m right. Assume this is some kind of copy, or Shiro but messed-with. If you’re a Galra sleeper agent, what’s the first directive going to be?”

Now Hunk shared her frown. “Make sure you’re not made,” he said slowly. “And if any of us would spot the changes in a tampering or the flaws in a copy it’d be Keith. They go back farthest.” He was not liking where this was going, at all. “But Pidge...you know that means the second threat is _you_.”

“Yeah. I’ve been thinking about that, too,” said Pidge quietly. “You remember how Keith got all upset when I said I wanted to leave, to look for my family?”

“Yeah,” said Hunk, a bit bewildered. “But you found Matt, so -”

“Shiro said it was fine,” said Pidge. “And I really wanted to search so I didn’t think anything of it, but I _was_ gone a while. If something _had_ happened to me, you guys would’ve been down a Lion. But it’s ...it’s this _new_ Shiro that said it was fine. And now I come to think about it...I’m not sure that’s what the old Shiro would’ve said. I think he’d have had us all go searching, or had me wait until all of us could go. Together.”

Hunk shook his head. “New Shiro doesn’t want anything to happen to you either, Pidge.”

“Yes and no,” said Pidge. “I mean...the Galra can’t just straight up rewire Shiro and have that work, can they? We’d spot that really quickly. He’s got to sound like Shiro, just...maybe not _totally_ the same. And we chalk it up to stress and everything he’s been through, which we _have_. But at the same time there’s going to be underlying goals that change what he values or would say. He’s a solid leader. But we’re not the team we were. He’s never used the Black Bayard, even though he _hates_ that cyborg hand. Keith is gone, for a while _I_ was gone...I honestly think there’s too much here to just ignore, Hunk.”

This was not comfortable territory for Hunk. This was mistrusting friends, questioning friends’ motives. This was being _underhanded_. “...So...what do you want to do about it?” came out quiet, and borderline miserable. “I can’t attack him, Pidge. I mean _may_ be you’re right. _Maybe_ that’s not really Shiro. But he’s all we’ve got. And if he _isn’t_ the real Shiro he’s also the only lead we’d have to finding him.”

“Nothing big, Hunk,” said Pidge, sad but gentle. “I don’t want to think too hard about it either – whether that’s really him but messed with, or a copy, or something else. But I know that’s exactly what we need to find out. And that’s why I’m talking to _you_. I need your help. If that robot arm is messing with Shiro’s head, I want to know what it’s doing. And if it _is_ doing something, I want to know who’s giving it orders. That could be our Shiro still. We just need to know.”

~*~

Shiro sat, lotus style, on the floor of his quarters. The lights were off. Breathe in, eight counts. Breathe out, eight counts. Focus on the breathing, on the counting, and sooner or later the pain would fade.

The migraine was easily one of the worst he’d had since returning to Black. Thinking wasn’t going to happen until he got it under control, but the Castle of Lions didn’t have pills, as such. You went into the medical pod things – which gave him flashbacks of the worst sort – or you suffered through it.

Breathe in, eight counts. Breathe out, eight counts.

Keep the mind from wandering. Meditate, focus. The mind never wandered anywhere good, anyway. His nightmares were testament enough to that.

Breathe in, eight counts. Breathe out, eight counts.

It was not relaxing. Somewhere below any level of thought that he could control, a part of him was shouting _this is not Keith being ‘okay’._ _This is Keith on the edge of_ _doing something permanently stupid_ _._ And every time it did he tensed just enough that his skull felt like it would explode.

Think about something else. Think about still water, wind over meadows. _The warm desert wind blowing through the cracks_ _in the walls_ _of an old wooden shack._

Nope. This was going to be a bad one. Shiro barely made it to the toilet when the retching hit.

~*~

“How the hell am _I_ supposed to solve this?” demanded Lance. “I don’t even _like_ him most of the time. I mean, I don’t want him _dead_ , but -”

“Maybe that’s why Pidge asked you,” said Allura, who didn’t really believe it but _did_ believe Pidge needed to talk to Hunk in private. Thankfully, she could also think quickly. “I mean, from what Shiro said, we’re not likely to get Keith to change course just because we’d miss him. You wouldn’t try a sentimental approach.”

Lance had retreated to his quarters; Allura stayed firmly in the doorway thereof. He collapsed, backward and with some drama, onto the bed. “I don’t get it, Allura. I just don’t. _Why_ would he do something like that? How could he be so selfish?”

Allura blinked. “I’m sorry?” she asked. The human train of thought occasionally still eluded her.

“Suicide!” snapped Lance, somewhere between angry and upset. “Wrecks the lives of everyone around you, while you take the easy way out!”

Nope. Allura was still having trouble with this. “Dying is the _easy_ way?” she asked, baffled. “And it wasn’t an attempt at suicide, from what Matt told us. Or he wouldn’t still be alive, would he? He didn’t have to pull up.”

“He didn’t _have_ to go diving at a cruiser in the first place!” snapped Lance, crossing his arms over his chest. “He was in a Galra fighter, Allura. The Lions eat those things like chew toys. _Lions_ bounce off the shields of a cruiser. There wasn’t going to be any winning by going diving at it.”

This was going to be one of those ‘humans are a particularly strange species’ days, Allura could see. The most she could glean was that what Lance was upset about wasn’t what he was _saying_ he was upset about. That left a universe of options, however, and didn’t address the real problem. “So...you don’t _want_ to talk Keith into coming back?” she hazarded.

“What I _want_ is to hit him with a taser blast and drag him back here by the mullet,” grumbled Lance.

Well. It was unequivocal, anyway. Allura pinched the bridge of her nose, face half-hidden behind her hand. “And...if we can’t do that because it would be an attack on a Blade?”

“Oh.” Lance fell silent, frowning. His eyes closed as he half-lay on the bed, long enough that Allura started to wonder if maybe he’d fallen asleep. “The ship’s all but useless without an Altaean to fly it, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Allura, grateful Lance had calmed down enough to make some sense again. “He might man the weapons systems, though.”

“Then...that’s something,” said Lance quietly. Something had sunk in; the tone was more sad than thoughtful. “I’m ...kind of realizing he doesn’t exactly have much. I mean if I’d stepped down, at worst I could go home and warn my family, you know, maybe help Earth prepare for the Empire taking an interest. Go back to the Garrison, help that way, if they haven’t expelled me already. I mean...back home no one’s got any real idea how much danger they’re in. Most of the planet doesn’t even know they’re not alone in the universe. I could talk to people. Help. I think Keith just has Shiro...” he frowned, trailing off.

“I don’t think they’re as close as they once were,” Allura noted.

“If Keith was telling the truth about Shiro always wanting him to pilot Black, no wonder,” said Lance, a touch bitterly. “He made a pretty solid mess of it.”

Allura found a chair, sat down with royal poise, and pretended she hadn’t heard that. “Lance. Please, focus. How do we fix this?”

~*~

_How do we fix this_ was also on Kolivan’s mind. For thousands of years, the Galra hadn’t really had any truck with the concept of fragility. You survived, or you didn’t. That which wasn’t well equipped to survive, soon enough wouldn’t, and it wasn’t your problem.

By that logic, leaving Keith be would soon enough be a problem that resolved itself. Kolivan understood, though, that this was not how humans thought about it, and ‘resolving itself’ would be the _last_ thing that would actually happen. It could fracture the alliance. The Blades of Marmora _needed_ this alliance; without it there would be nothing to stop the Coalition from treating every Galra it met as an enemy. An empire built on hating all Galra was no healthier than one built on the Galra taking everything it could.

And Keith...Keith was a _problem_. A very peculiar, very unique problem.

Most Blades did not want to die. They trained to avoid starting situations that might lead to combat first of all. Secondarily, they trained in combat so that if things went south they could hopefully get out of trouble. Only if it was the only way to see the mission through would they sacrifice their lives. That so many Blades were still lost every year was a testament to the danger of the work they undertook, not a communal deathwish.

Keith did not want to die, either. After several months, Kolivan was at least reasonably sure of this. Keith didn’t want to _die_. But he did want to _matter_.

It was around this point that Kolivan started wishing there were some kind of ‘introductory guide to humans’ available, because logic and reason only carried so far. Keith wanted to matter. That made sense only up to the point where it became blindingly obvious that Keith already _did_ matter, and was fundamentally unable to notice it. Which meant that, somehow, things _just kept escalating_ until it reached life or death levels. While Keith had survived them thus far, there was enough sheer luck involved that Kolivan felt safe in his conclusion that the little ex-Paladin was already on borrowed time.

And if the little ex-Paladin died while in service to the Blades, ‘trouble’ wouldn’t be the half of it. Valuable though they were to Voltron’s paladins, the Blades of Marmora were still Galra and without Voltron’s direct backing the Coalition might well decide the Blades were better off fighting Zarkon on their own.

And it wasn’t that the Blades couldn’t do that. But Keith wasn’t the only one to have noticed the ripple of Hope among the Blades. Kolivan understood that he might well be the leader that saw the Blades’ final victory, the Empire dismantled, Zarkon dethroned. It was time to consider what happened _next_. What the fate of the Galra would be - without a homeworld, without an army, and without the might of the Empire.

The Blades _needed_ this alliance. Needed to be seen. The final victory needed to be one that all agreed the Blades had contributed to.

The bit where the Blades were infiltrators and spies didn’t really help this goal. The entire point of spies and infiltrators was that you _didn’t_ see them.

Kolivan...stalked. It was an unconscious posture, but he stalked the corridors of the base while he considered implications, possibilities. Part of his mind stayed alert to his surroundings, absently catching thrown daggers that got too close, responding to brief updates in passing from his people.

He couldn’t simply send Keith away. While that would certainly absolve him of direct responsibility, he had a suspicion that if Keith took this as failure or ‘not mattering’ it would end poorly, and that _would_ likely be placed on his shoulders. And it seemed quite likely that Keith would twist such an event in that way. So it had to be frameable as important. Mattering. And for the love of dying stars, somewhere the little Paladin was supervised because Kolivan did not trust the tendency of events around Keith to escalate.

Kolivan paused, causing another Blade to adjust course quickly or walk into his back. An idea was forming. One that might just work…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The chapter title is a song by the Offspring. Ir/relevance is your own to determine.)


	4. The Problem Of The Littlest Galra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kolivan's Solution - Lotor Disappears

A call from Kolivan got all five Paladins together, although Shiro didn’t look particularly well. Or happy.

Kolivan did not have Keith by his side for the call, either, and seeing that made _none_ of the Paladins happy.

The leader of the Blades inclined his head toward them on the viewscreen. “Paladins,” he greeted with gruff calm. “I wish to speak to you of your former comrade.”

“He’s all right, right?” said Hunk, before anyone else could.

“Insofar as he ever is,” said Kolivan. “It is continuing that state of affairs that brings me to you.”

Pidge adjusted her glasses, frowning up at Kolivan’s image. “I don’t think now’s the time for subtlety.”

The old Blade briefly scowled. Not a happy Galra, no. “I have undertaken the process of overseeing Keith’s training up to this point,” he said flatly. “He has progressed as far as this will take him. I wish to give him a field assignment. Since you have a continued interest in him, I am informing you.”

_I’m not asking permission_ , that meant. It was also a sign that the old Blade was getting annoyed. Allura looked toward Shiro, worried that he hadn’t spoken. The Black Paladin had a ...clenched-jaw look to him, but what he was holding back could not be guessed.

“Thank you,” Allura said, stepping forward. “May we ask what this field assignment is?”

“I will send him to the rebel groups,” said Kolivan. “As a Blade he will assist them, and from him we will better understand this new coalition.” He paused, then added, “This will not be an undercover assignment. He will be clear in his position. The coalition does not understand who the Blades are.”

This little speech caused some silence as the Paladins thought it over. Lance was the first to speak, saying, “So...you’re sending Keith to them as your _diplomat_? I hate to break it to you buddy, but if that’s your best play, you’re _screwed_.”

“You’re...sending Keith to _Matt_?” asked Pidge faintly.

“That’s...that’s good, right?” Hunk asked of the room at large. “I mean, we were already wanting him to move. This is good. The rebel groups, they’re really different. And they don’t have communication outages because of black holes. And Matt’s a good guy.”

Shiro had locked eyes with Kolivan, through the speech and after, as if there were a second layer to it all. As the others tested the idea among themselves, he just nodded to Kolivan. “I understand. And...thank you.”

“He shows promise,” said Kolivan, brushing off the thanks. “We would not see it wasted.” The screen went dark.

Pidge reached over to tug Hunk’s sleeve, nodding toward Shiro. Shiro’s expression had calmed, whatever inner conflict was going on there seemed resolved. Hunk noted it, bit his lip.

Lance didn’t. “Promise?” he echoed. “Keith? _Diplomatic_ mission? This is going to blow up _bigtime_.”

“Shut it, Lance,” said Shiro, but the tone was calm and slightly distracted. Shiro was thinking of something else. “Kolivan’s smart. Thinking ahead. Sending Keith _as a Blade_ gets the rebel groups used to the idea of thinking of the Blades as people, not just faceless Galra that aren’t their enemies. You had to have seen at the party. They saved two thirds of the rebel fleet and nobody so much as offered them a drink.”

Pidge frowned. “He looks as Galra as my grandmother though,” she said. “It’s only the gear that’d tell anyone otherwise.”

“The Blades need a foot in the door. Keith can do that,” said Shiro. “And we can keep a better eye on him when he’s out in the open.”

That, at least, was not a point anyone wanted to argue.

~*~

Olia’s jaw snapped in annoyance. “You _what_ , again?”

“I agreed to take Keith on with our crew,” said Matt, with a hopeful grin that was turning somewhat sheepish. “Look. Think of it as a favor to Voltron?”

“I’ll work with the Blades,” said Olia, “I never said anything about _bunking_ with them.”

“Favor to Voltron,” Matt repeated. “Keith means a lot to them. We owe Voltron a lot more than this, you _know_ we do.”

They were touched down on a jungle world, recently liberated. The ship needed fresh water, time to clear out over-recycled air, and if possible, take on some fresh edible fruit and nuts to supplement rations. While they were here, they were also checking on the locals and the level-of-defunct of the destroyed Galra base. Rebels couldn’t stay anywhere too long, and had mastered the art of multitasking.

“Fine,” grumped Olia. “When’s he arriving?”

“I’m already here,” said a voice from above, which prompted a brief mad scramble for weaponry. But there was nothing to shoot at. At least, not until a masked figure in black and purple (and how had _that_ managed to be hidden among green trees) dropped lightly down to the ground. The mask shimmered and disappeared, showing a human face. “I’m Keith. You were expecting me.”

~*~

The pod opened, and Lotor stumbled out.

He had ...call them caches, stashed all over the known universe. Miniature bases, built to be invisible from the air, on uninhabited worlds. It was never, ever, a bad idea to plan ahead, and it was also never a bad idea to understand that some things could never be planned for with precision.

This cache was on an uninhabited world in the ‘liberated third’. The base consisted of medical pods and stasis chambers for six, long term rations and water storage, basic sanitation facilities, and a collection of spare parts such as might be required by, say, a ship limping to this location after a firefight.

He’d hoped never to need it, but one did not survive as Zarkon’s son by relying on _hope_. One survived by the expectation that Zarkon was a cruel, vindictive, and occasionally truly _thorough_ bastard. And once again, Lotor survived to tell the tale.

He checked the chronometer. Four days. Four days in the medical pod. Still, given how hard he’d pushed himself lately, it was probably good that it wasn’t more. His legs felt a bit wobbly, so he kept a hand on one wall as he retrieved rations and water, then sat down to dine.

All he’d asked for was nonaggression. In exchange, he offered nonaggression in return, and a willingness to parley if the Paladins wished to enlist his aid against his father. He’d had to be quick – the paladins might have been grateful for his timely aid, but gratitude had an extremely short shelf life, and there was (rather wisely) no trust to speak of. He’d come under parley after giving aid badly needed without being asked to do so. It was...unchivalric to take a man prisoner under such circumstances, but it had been a close thing.

Biting neatly through waxy, aged ration bars, Lotor mused that really, it would have been a win either way. If Shiro’s hard pragmatism had won and they’d taken him prisoner, he would have had time to learn much more of their dynamics, put each Paladin to their Lion, sort weaknesses. On the negative end, they would have had time to study _him_ in return, and while he was quite good at dissembling he’d been in no shape to be much good at it.

The food _might_ have been better in the castleship. But there would absolutely have been more direct confrontation with his father’s forces, as well. It was just as well that they’d agreed to let him be for the time being.

No generals. Only one Sincline ship, and the remains of the comet – that did him no good without pilots to fly a third ship, and recovering the second.

What to do, what to _do_...

~*~

Keith’s ethnicity remained a topic of baffled conversation right up until the first time his palmprint activated a Galra lock. That didn’t _end_ the conversation but did change the tone of it, with people asking questions about just _how_ Galra he was. _That_ lasted until Keith thoroughly lost his temper and shouted _I don’t know, all right?_ Loudly enough that birds several trees away took flight.

After that it didn’t come up at all, unless people were quite sure Keith wasn’t anywhere around. Given that he didn’t speak at all unless spoken to – and since he always wore the Marmora armor, almost no one spoke to him unless they had to, or were dared to – making sure he wasn’t around typically meant verifying he was asleep somewhere _someone_ could see him.

It was not what Matt had expected from Pidge’s stories. Or at least, not exactly what he’d expected. The Keith from his sister’s stories was ...not more outgoing, no. But more passionate. Someone that attacked what he saw as unfair with both hands, both feet, and teeth if he had to, and didn’t stop until he’d won or been beaten bloody to the point he couldn’t stand up.

That was not _this_ Keith. If the Keith from the stories was fire, then this was embers, mostly ash, barely glowing.

And it wasn’t as if he wasn’t helpful. Whatever needed doing, he did it without complaint – often without more than a word or two acknowledging he’d heard the request. Carry medical supplies? Sure. Scout the abandoned Galra base for anything dangerous or useful? Gimme fifteen doboshes. Steal a Galra fighter to fly escort for a freighter? No problem.

As far as anyone could _tell_ , he didn’t repeat the ninja trick of being around but not seen, unless he was scouting someplace. He almost seemed to be working hard to be visible, if quiet. Matt reserved judgment on that score, though. It wasn’t something he could explain to Olia, or any of the others. There was something very lost, very _human_ , to this ember!Keith. The kind of lost that listened at doors for words that were cruel. And there were plenty of those to hear if one were inclined to listen. People did not join the rebellion because the Galra had been _kind_ to them. And the Blades of Marmora were Galra.

Matt had taken to closing the doors to the bridge when calling the castleship. He wasn’t going to lie to his little sister, but the words weren’t ones he thought would be good for Keith to hear.

_We can come to you,_ Pidge offered. _Look, we’ve got some...stuff we have to sort out over here, but if you need me I’m coming, you understand?_

_I understand,_ Matt had told her. _It’s the Lions, really. I couldn’t tell you why, but ...I think if he were around the Lions and they didn’t respond, I think it wouldn’t help things._

_You mean Red,_ said Pidge. _He didn’t want Black. I doubt he wants to go anywhere near it in case it winks at him or something. But you’re probably right about Red. That’s fine. Honestly if Lance went out there to see you guys he’d probably try to punch Keith in the face. I have no idea why he thinks that would help, but there you go._

_I’m keeping an eye on him,_ Matt promised. _You go do whatever you need to. We’re fine here. I promise. If anything changes I’ll let you know._

_You’re the best,_ said Pidge.

Katie was the most awesome sister anyone could hope to have. Matt was as certain of this as he was of white stars being hot. She was worried, so if she said they had ‘things to handle’, Matt understood that those ‘things’ were pretty big. This wasn’t the kind of situation she’d ordinarily leave hanging. But Zarkon wasn’t twiddling his thumbs, and there were a billion things for Voltron to deal with. It wasn’t hard for one person to get lost in the tumult.

Whatever needed to happen, Matt realized _he_ was going to have to get it started. To everyone else, Keith was an entirely unknown quantity. A Galra that might not look like a Galra, but certainly didn’t look like any of _them_ either. And absolutely _acted_ like a Galra.

At least...he acted like a Galra if you didn’t know what a particularly lonely human looked like.

Matt decided to test a theory.

One evening, after a full day of offloading medical supplies to one of the liberated worlds, the exhausted crew camped out by the boarding ramp. Just enjoying the world’s spring breeze and vivid sunset, while gingerly sampling the food the locals had offered in return. Tonight’s fare was orange and blue and very leafy, with some sort of dressing splashed on it. Matt had learned that if it tested edible, that was the limit of all wise questioning; fresh food, however weird, was far better than any possible alternative no matter what it tasted like.

Keith sat slightly apart from the others – very much in sight, but not _with_ anyone. Dinner was studied, as apparently he studied _any_ food that wasn’t goo or gel, and sampled in small bites.

Matt decided to get up, walk over, and plunk himself down next to Keith. This surprised everyone, not least Keith himself.

“Figured you could use some company,” said Matt, making himself as cheerful as he could. “Those crates were heavy today.”

It was almost funny, really. Keith had gone from ‘off in his own world’ to ‘fish out of water’ in the space of seconds. Internally, Matt ticked the tickybox marked ‘lonely human’. No Galra would react like that. Matt knew how to deal with lonely humans. There’d certainly been enough of them back in Galaxy Garrison.

So he stayed right there. In Keith’s personal space. And went back to eating dinner, not requiring any acknowledgment or participation.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the smallest, briefest smile flickering across Keith’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, this is the last you'll see of Lotor. Not that I'm not curious where that entire plot thread goes, but I know better than to think I have a hope of predicting it.


	5. The Hammer Raised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hammer Down ~ Pidge's Plan ~ Keith's Education

Zarkon was _not_ twiddling his thumbs. Lotor had dropped off everyone’s radar, and that meant Zarkon had time to notice, and care, that he’d lost a third of his empire.

The Paladins, bluntly, were being run ragged. Zarkon was not interested in reconquering the worlds he’d lost. He was interested in _destroying_ them, making them an example to the rest of his empire of what it meant to stand up to him. Voltron could not be everywhere. There were too many cruisers, too many troops.

As much as the Paladins would have liked very much to go and check up on Keith (or, in Lance’s case, possibly punch him and _then_ check on him) they were up to their ears in work just to hold the most important planets.

All Zarkon had to do was wear them down. They were, when it came down to it, five people. Who could be injured, who needed sleep every now and then. Zarkon’s forces were in the _millions_. He couldn’t bring them all to bear in every battle, since that would leave many of his worlds open to attack, but it did mean he could hit harder, more often, and recover faster.

And there were...other problems.

“You know what the problem is,” said Pidge quietly, adjusting the light on the latest attempt. “The problem is, we don’t actually have any of the first Shiro’s DNA.”

“I _really_ wish you’d stop calling him that,” grumbled Hunk tiredly, looking over schematics. “It’s _just_ a theory, all right? We don’t _know_ that Shiro isn’t really Shiro. Or even messed with. I mean he’s been through a lot, right? He’s been through a lot _twice_ even. It’s bound to change anybody. Why are we jumping right to crazy alien cloning with optional cybernetic control?”

“Because the Galra have proven they _can_ do it,” said Pidge, slotting a small component into place. “Because Voltron’s the _only_ thing that can stop Zarkon. Because the Black Lion is _definitely_ something Zarkon wants back. Means and motive means we _check this out_ , Hunk.”

“He still hasn’t been activated, if you’re right,” Hunk pointed out, passing over another piece. “And right now Zarkon’d save a lot of troops if he did.”

“Maybe it’s not about saving troops,” said Pidge, concentrating on her work. “I mean really, has he _ever_ cared about battle losses? But making Voltron look weak, making it look like we can’t protect anyone, he’d care about that. If I’m right, he can only do this trick once and have a hope of it working. Once we know – once he _knows_ we know – we could take Shiro out of Black. Or Shiro’d take _himself_ out. You need strong will to pilot Black. It could be the only way Zarkon can control the clone is if he doesn’t _know_ he’s a clone. That way, all the internal hunches aren’t second-guessed.”

Hunk blinked blearily at Pidge. “...Remind me never to buy you a book of conspiracy theories, Pidge. You think _way_ too much about this stuff.”

“Someone has to,” Pidge dismissed, and flicked a switch. The device in her hands started to glow faintly. “So far so good.”

Hunk was on his back, on the floor of Pidge’s room, yawning prodigiously. It had been a long, _long_ day. Sound didn’t carry in space, but he’d been dreaming of Galra fighters ripped up like tissue for days now, when he dreamed at all. “Any results?” he asked sleepily.

“I wish I could put this in Black somewhere,” sighed Pidge. “The amount of time we’re fighting lately, I’d get the best readings that way.” She tapped the little readout screen with her finger. “I’ll have to leave it running. I’ll see if I can’t sneak it into Shiro’s quarters.”

“Yeah, cos that’ll go over _so_ well,” sighed Hunk. “This won’t tell us if Shiro’s a clone, Pidge. It’ll only tell us if that arm is receiving or sending signals that aren’t from Shiro.”

Pidge nodded, and set the device on her desk. “That’s more important. Clone or original it’s still Shiro’s DNA. It’s still _him_ , as much as if he were almost-identical twins anyway. Close enough. But if he’s being controlled, or guided, or _nudged_ by somebody, _that_ is a problem.” She reached out a hand to help Hunk to his feet. Given their size difference, it took all her strength and weight to help him to his feet.

“Y’know,” said Hunk blearily, “If you want Shiro’s DNA, you could always check Keith’s old room. Or send Matt to Earth when we can.”

“We’d need the teludav to -” Pidge paused. “Did you say _Keith’s_ room?”

Hunk was tired enough to be swaying – certainly too tired to think much about what he was saying. “Yeah. Keith had some of Shiro’s clothes in that shack, remember? And Shiro’d been gone at least a year. He keeps stuff. If Shiro ever gave him _anything_ , bet it’s still tucked up safe in his room somewhere. Could be worth a-ahhh,” the yawn was prodigious, and contagious. “Mmm. What w’s I saying?”

“Pure genius,” said Pidge happily, and led Hunk to the door. “C’mon big guy. You need your sleep.”

“Oh that’s a good idea,” mumbled Hunk, led wobbily out the door.

~*~

Keith had, for a specific value of the word, enjoyed his time with the Blades of Marmora. There had been new challenges every day. New skills to master, and skills to test, work with visible goals and provable results. And no one had a single thing to say about bloodlines. His own, or anyone else’s. The blade itself did all the talking.

Self-loathing was being taken to all new depths with the rebel groups. He didn’t look galra, but he didn’t have to. The armor set him apart with the crews as well as the people they traveled to help. A good day was one in which people actually kept their disparaging remarks out of earshot, instead of just barely within it. Or stage whispers that were meant to be overheard.

That was bad. But what was worse – what was a _lot_ worse – was knowing they had every right. ‘Not all Galra’ was _not_ the stance to take when you’d _just_ finished dousing the smoking ruins of what _had been_ someone’s home before a Galra ship blasted it, when you’d _just_ used your (galra-blooded) palm-print to open a cell full of half-starved, hollow-eyed prisoners. Most wouldn’t go near him, averting their eyes and keeping as far from him as they could.

Keith wore the armor because Kolivan was right. These people did need to _see_ that galra could, would, help them. But he wore the mask, too. And the only reason for that that he could articulate, even to himself, was self-defense. He _needed_ to put that shell between himself and those hollow, fearful, accusing stares.

It would have been easier if he could get angry. Shout that it hadn’t been him, that he’d never had anything to do with the Empire. He almost _had_ , at the start, but that wasn’t why he’d been sent here. The Blades _were_ helping. Keith knew that; he knew every scrap of intel retrieved helped Kolivan and Shiro put together the strategies that would _stop_ this. But all of that was invisible to these crews, and the hundreds, thousands, _millions_ of people whose only contact with the Galra were the slave ships that dragged them away in chains, and the warships that destroyed their homes.

The instinct was there, even so. Some small part that wanted to snarl _it wasn’t me, lay off_. If it was a galra instinct, Kolivan would have a bigger uphill climb than anticipated. But it could be human. It wasn’t as if humanity had a stainless peace record, after all. On the most twisty days Keith had to wonder if the main reason humanity would end up on the rebel side was just that the Galra had gotten to the better war technology first.

All he could do was the job he’d been sent here to do. Help, however and wherever Olia’s crew wanted him to help, and be galra. That _wasn’t_ doing what he was usually good at – the ship had two pilots already, and they were so badly outgunned that fighting wasn’t an option.

Matt was the only friend he had, and even there, Keith was fairly sure a highly specific definition of ‘friend’ was in play. Keith knew Pidge and looked human. Neither applied to any other Blade. And ‘friend’ boiled down to ‘not objecting to the presence of’.

Frankly, everything else hurt so much, crushed so thoroughly, that Keith wasn’t sure he cared.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For future reference it is worth noting that the events of this chapter summarize several *months* worth of time.


	6. Tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorath ~ Massage ~ Begin Convergence

“We have not located Lotor,” rumbled Kolivan. “However, intelligence obtained from destroyed bases indicates that he appears to still be within the free sector.”

Shiro watched the star-map as certain worlds went from red to green, one by one. “And these are all uninhabited worlds?”

“Indeed,” Kolivan agreed. “Colonizable, but uninhabited. Imperial reports suggest plans were underway to build slave camps on a few, to collect resources. Not all were on that list, however. We cannot assume the collection of resources to be Lotor’s goal in going there.”

“But nothing indicating any violence,” said Shiro slowly. “He’s not attacking anyone.”

“Correct,” Kolivan agreed. “However, some of the reports are only of long-range scans. It is possible that small conflicts would not appear on such scans.”

Shiro rubbed his face with his good hand. He had _not_ been in favor of letting Lotor go, even if he _had_ been helpless and all but useless as a bargaining chip. He didn’t trust it, at all, but – they’d agreed. Lotor could go where he wanted provided he didn’t start any trouble. He eyed the map. It didn’t _look_ like Lotor was leading his father’s ships. But neither was Lotor acting solely to stay beyond the edges of the conflict. He tapped one world that Lotor had visited scant days before the Imperial fleet had tried to atomize it. “What’s here?”

“Dorath,” said Kolivan. “A mercantile colony. I have sent agents to discover what Lotor may have been seeking – knowledge, or materials. It will take time. The attack was recent enough that we are forced to act covertly.”

“We could ask the rebels to take a look,” said Shiro. “I think we’ve still got some money from all those publicity shows we did. They’re always in need of supplies. They might get answers.”

Kolivan scowled. The old galra did not think particularly highly of the rebels as an intelligence gathering force. But what he said was, “The attention of many ships that near the borders of the free territory may draw Zarkon’s eye. The markets are already heavily damaged.”

Shiro winced. They’d been in time to save the planet – he did remember _that_ much about it – but it had been a fight and a half to drive off the cruisers. There’d been no time to land and check on the people. Voltron had been needed to make sure the cruisers _retreated_ and didn’t flatten another world on the way out simply because it was near enough to attack. Galra did not take kindly to defeat.

Still. Lotor being free to fly around plotting... _something_...didn’t sit well with him. “We could ask Olia and Matt to go. Just them. One ship won’t draw attention.”

 _And Keith’s with them._ One Blade to act covertly, two rebels to act openly. _Someone_ should be able to get answers.

“...I will inform my agents,” said Kolivan, which Shiro understood as _if you really must_. “Now. As to Zarkon’s likely next target, movements which we have been able to track suggest attempts to fortify here, and here...”

~*~

Lance was less than happy. The fighting had exhausted everyone, Pidge and Hunk were _up to something_ , Shiro seemed to think having everyone around for basic briefings just meant everyone got sidetracked (which, okay, maybe a _little_ ) and some screwed up space anomaly had wiped out all his saved games in _Killbot Phantasm_ , which meant he had to start over.

But things had eased up a little – or at least they weren’t running from breakfast to dinner to smash ships – and after almost breaking the controller of the game console, Lance decided maybe the best way to calm down was to get a massage. The castleship had hundreds of rooms, for diplomatic, athletic, dining and residence – among others he hadn’t identified yet – and so, trying _very_ hard not to think too much about the aggravating boss on level three and why it was so very hard to kill, Lance was face down on a massage table while expert robotic hands attacked tense muscles.

It was definitely one of his better ideas. At least, he thought so right up until the sound of the door opening reached his ears, and he realized his betoweled backside was presented to Allura. And also that the mechanical arms didn’t realize the sudden jerk of surprise meant they should _stop_.

Allura couldn’t stop herself from laughing at the resulting flail, but she did close her eyes while Lance got himself re-toweled and situated in a more upright position. “I can come back another time,” he offered quickly.

“No, that’s quite all right,” said Allura. “I’d thought to try a massage myself.” She stepped over to a side door and slipped in. “It’s been very tense, after all, the past few days.”

Lance, wondering if this was going to be some kind of towel-wearing bonding moment or if he needed to practice staring at the ceiling, stuck to the obvious. “Well. Yeah. Zarkon can throw some really impressive tantrums.”

Allura emerged – not wearing a towel, but a skintight bodysuit of thin material. Of course, robot hands and sensors wouldn’t have any trouble with that. Lance took all of two seconds to decide his best options were a) stare at the ceiling, or b) stay face-down on the massage table. A vague idea of fairness opted for choice b). There was a time and a place and right now he really didn’t want another fight. He got back on the table and restarted the program.

Allura lay down on the next table over. “I don’t suppose _you_ know what Hunk and Pidge are working on?” she asked.

“Not really,” said Lance. “I’ve been wondering if I screwed something up, because you’re the only one that’s talked to me in days, unless we’re in the lions.”

“Mmmm,” said Allura, as the robotic hands got to work. “I admit, I know the feeling. This is doing nothing for our teamwork. It _isn’t_ just you.”

Really. Allura _too_? “I’d have thought you’d be with Shiro,” Lance offered. “You know, strategy and stuff.”

“It’s different, piloting Blue,” said Allura. “I mean I love it, don’t get me wrong. But I’m not needed for strategy as a lion pilot. We sort that out together. The castleship is always separate.”

That...didn’t sound right. On the one hand, _yes_ , Shiro had a lot more experience. And maybe deciding on strategy did go faster if it was just him and Kolivan and maybe a few of the rebel pilots. But when had it stopped being all of them there? Even if just to listen?

For a little while relative silence reigned, as the robotic hands pounded tense muscles into relaxing. Lance was pretty sure he was going to be a giant bruise, but at least it’d be a giant relaxed bruise. It was nagging at him, trying to remember when he’d last sat in a strategy meeting. He was _supposed_ to, he knew that. Red was supposed to be second in command. It was just…

It was just that Shiro really didn’t need any pointers from a guy who’d consistently wrecked the simulator before being taken in by Blue, is what it came down to, and Shiro had made that clear without being mean about it. Or at least, not as mean as he might’ve been. It was insane to think it, but _Keith_ had been more willing to hear him out.

“When did that start?” asked Lance carefully. “I mean...not going to strategy meetings anymore.”

“I’m not...sure,” said Allura thoughtfully. “Now you mention it. I just ...knew I didn’t need to be there?”

“Not even as Princess of Altea?” asked Lance.

“Well. It’s...gone, isn’t it?” said Allura. “Pidge said it too. I can stand for the worlds Zarkon has destroyed, and will continue to destroy if we don’t stop him, but that’s old news in a strategy meeting. They all already know the stakes.”

The massage was absolutely helping. Even if he might just need a wheelchair to leave the room, Lance was thinking more clearly. “You know, I think I want to ask Pidge and Hunk if they’ve had the same thing. Now I think about it I haven’t heard one of Shiro’s team speeches in ages, and definitely not outside the lions.”

“Huh,” said Allura, puzzled now. “You’re right. He’s called us ‘Paladins’. I wonder why.”

Lance’s drifting mind hit a few more points. “...I’m going to go get Keith,” he said.

Alteans possibly reacted to full body massage differently. She startled. “Um. Is that _really_ -”

This time, Lance turned the robot off before twisting and sitting up. Much less embarrassing. “No. No more excuses. Something’s up. Something’s _wrong_. And not just with him.”

Allura reached quickly to stop her own table, sitting up with a bit more care. “Lance. You can’t just _go_. Not with these attacks -”

“ _Screw_ Zarkon,” snapped Lance. “You’ll stay here. If something _does_ come up you can send me a wormhole and I can get back quickly, but we’ve been using this as an excuse for too long.”

“So I’m supposed to just sit on my hands, is that it?” asked Allura, annoyed now. “You can fill me in or I can lock this ship _down_ , Lance.”

Lance ran a hand through his hair. The moment of clarity wasn’t hanging around, and he was scrambling to grab the realization that had been so perfect just seconds ago. “I can’t – it all fits together, Allura, I’m _sure_ of it. I had it just a tick ago. I’ve got to go. I’ve got to get Keith back here. We’re going to need him don’tevertellhimIsaidthat. And you’re right, Zarkon may attack soon and I’m sure that’s part of it. So what we’re going to do is, I’m taking Red out and you’re wormholing me to wherever Olia’s ship is now, and while I’m hogtying that idiot to Red’s undercarriage you’re going to make Hunk and Pidge tell you what they’re up to and then we’re _all. Catching. up._ And it’ll make sense.”

“...As plans go,” Allura began, and then got a good look at Lance’s expression. She sighed. “We’ve gone with worse. All right. Go get dressed. And let me do the same.”

Lance ducked into the changing room to get more on than a towel, then headed back to his quarters for his Paladin armor. Time. Time was important. Mental fingers were trying hard to keep a grip on that perfect moment of understanding. It had to do with _time_.

~*~

Allura stayed still until Lance had run off. Blowing out a slow breath, she got dressed somewhat more sedately. Lance hadn’t made a lot of sense – or at least he had, and then had gotten distracted. But he hadn’t had any comments about the massage suit, or towels, and he hadn’t tried to flirt. On that basis alone, Allura was willing to accept that wherever his train of thought had switched tracks, it had ended up somewhere important.

And it wasn’t as if _she_ wasn’t tired of this either. Hunk and Pidge had the most creative minds of the team, sure, but they’d never stayed huddled _this_ long before. It was certainly not good for the team. So, once she was properly attired, she headed for Pidge’s quarters. Whatever was going on, Pidge would be at the heart of it; Hunk might go along with a plot, but his heart would never let him lead one.

She didn’t find them in Pidge’s quarters. Or Hunk’s. Growing suspicious, she tried all the doors – only to find both of them looking surprised and not a little guilty, going over _Keith’s_ quarters. “ _What_ do you two think you’re doing?”

“Ummmm, cleaning?” offered Hunk. “It’s really dusty in here, you know.”

If by ‘cleaning’ they meant ‘tossing everything in every direction’. Allura was good at playing the mama wolf. It didn’t work at all on Pidge, who knew better, but Hunk all but cringed.

“You’ve got to keep it from Shiro,” said Pidge, walking behind her to close the door. “It’s really important.”

“It had better be,” said Allura, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’d better be quick. Lance has decided he’s going to bring Keith back.”

Under the circumstances, Allura had expected this to get a negative reaction. One did not go tossing someone’s room unless one was sure they _weren’t_ going to be around. But Pidge actually looked relieved, and so did Hunk. “OhthankGod,” he said. “That’ll be one problem down.”

Allura’s jaw dropped. “Are _all_ of you speaking some new language you forgot to teach me?” she asked. “ _What_ problem?”

“No time,” said Pidge quickly. “When is Lance leaving?”

“He’s getting ready right now,” said Allura, thoroughly baffled. “I wanted to go with him, but -”

“He’ll need the teludav,” said Pidge quickly. “Yeah. I keep in touch with Matt.” She moved to get past Allura and open the door again, but this time Allura stopped her.

“Oh, no,” said Allura quickly. “Not until you explain.”

“There’s no _time_ ,” Pidge insisted. “Lance will have to go quickly to make this work. I’ve _got_ to talk to him before he leaves. I promise, once he’s out of here we’ll fill you in!”

Pidge got the door open and all but bolted from the room. Allura gave Hunk a glare, and was reasonably reassured by his embarrassed, sheepish look. But he didn’t offer details either – just gestured at the door. “You’d...better get to the bridge. Teludav, and all.”

Allura all but stomped after them.


	7. A Question of Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Off to Dorath ~ Tiger, Tiger

Shiro found Lance already suited up, somewhat to his surprise. And possibly if he’d had a break from the headaches, and thus had more sleep, he’d have been a lot more suspicious of the way Lance stopped dead in his tracks as if he’d been caught sneaking treats from Hunk’s stash. But he hadn’t, and was therefore more relieved than anything else. “Oh, good. You’re already ready.”

“What?” Lance tried not to yelp. He wasn’t very good at not looking guilty.

Shiro handed over a packet of what turned out to be credits. “Since you’re already suited up, get Allura to wormhole you out to Olia’s ship,” he said. “ Pidge will know where it is.  Don’t stay. Red’s too conspicuous. But get this to her, or Matt, as soon as you can.”

If he weren’t on the verge of a heart attack, Lance might have had a lot of choice words about the train of thought he’d been trying so hard to keep a grip on suddenly chugging off a cliff. “Um. Sure,” he said, trying to sound chipper instead of the more accurate state of complete bafflement. “Not Keith?” he asked, just to be sure.

“Keith will have a different job,” said Shiro. “It’s already sorted out. Just get that to them as fast as Red can take you.”

“Sure,” said Lance, fighting off a sudden instinct to salute the way he had when trying to shake off overly inquisitive Garrison instructors. There was no way even a distracted Shiro would miss a clue _that_ big. “Back soon.” 

He tried for a ‘look keen but not too keen’ level of jog to Red’s hangar, and was so focused on that that he nearly ran Pidge over. “ _What?_ ” he yelped, almost sidestepping into a wall in sheer guilty startlement. “What is it? Seriously!”

“Aaaand that would be why I haven’t told you anything before now,” said Pidge with dry amusement. “Allura said you’re going to see Keith. Olia’s ship should be en route to Dorath about now. Remember the world Zarkon sent five carriers to destroy, about a week ago? There was that one crazy ship that kept trying to dogfight you? That one.”

“Yeah, well, Shiro said I’m to take them some money but Keith’s got something else to do and you’re not talking about whatever Shiro was talking about are you,” said Lance in one breathless sentence. “We are _seriously_ suffering a communications breakdown on this ship.”

“And there’s a lot of reasons for it,” Pidge agreed, a bit unhappily. “But you’re going to have a longer trip than you thought. Come on.” She started along the corridor to Red’s hangar, evidently expecting that with his longer legs he’d catch up.

Legwise, yes. Brainwise...he was working on it. “Uh. Shiro said I have to come right back,” said Lance. “Was  _planning_ on bringing Keith with me, actually.”

“Good idea, too,” said Pidge, more quietly now. “But first, you two need to detour to Earth. Give Olia or Matt the money. And tell Matt you’re going to Earth, he’ll want to give Mom a message.” She passed a box and an envelope over to Lance, who juggled them under one arm with the package from Shiro. “You need to get Keith to point you at wherever Shiro lived. I need something of his from _before_ Kerberos. Clothes, keepsakes, anything, but it’s got to be something he handled or used or wore. Got it?”

Lance didn’t have to do much thinking about that one at all before arriving at, “And you want me to convince Keith to do that...how, exactly?”

“However you have to,” said Pidge. “Tell him I’m asking, if that helps. I mean I’d _met_ Shiro before Kerberos, but I was never at his house or anything. Keith will know where to go and what might work. It’s _really_ important.”

“And I’m at ‘Shiro did say to come right back’,” said Lance. “How long can you guys cover for me?”

Pidge stepped back so Lance could, again, juggle the packages to palm open Red’s door. “As long as we can,” she said seriously. “I’ll be filling Allura in so she knows why she’s sending you to Earth and not bringing you back here. If Shiro has a job for Keith, though..” she sighed. “I’m sorry. You’re going to have to wing it. There’s just no time.”

_Time_ . That nagging feeling again. Lance was sure if he just had ten damn minutes to  _focus_ he could get back that moment. Now he felt like he was playing catchup.  _Again_ . He trotted over to Red, which bowed and opened its mouth for him to enter. He looked back at Pidge. She wasn’t looking ...mischievous, or delighted. Or even happy. Not like she did when on the edge of a discovery, or starting an experiment. She looked serious, edging on solemn, and tired. 

Well. They were  _all_ tired, lately. Shiro wasn’t wrong to want him back here quickly. Four lions was risky right now. It came down to trust – did he trust Pidge, or not?

“I’ll do everything I can,” Lance promised, and headed up to the cockpit.

~*~

Matt turned off the commlink, leaned back, looking at Olia. “We  _can_ use those supplies,” he said.

Olia flicked an ear, irritated. “Something’s screwy at the castle if we’re fielding two calls in one morning. Dorath’s not the safest port at the moment. I’d be happier if the Lion was staying with us.”

Matt didn’t feel like arguing that; for his part, he was a little sad it was Red, and not Green, doing the transfer. Pidge had changed a  _lot_ since joining the Paladins, but not so much that he couldn’t tell when she was really worried about something. 

“I’ll go see if we can handle contact with the Blades without Keith there,” he said, and unbuckled to head back into crew quarters. Olia didn’t trust Keith anywhere near the controls, so he tended to find places to read. Places where he was visible, but not in the way, which seemed to be his version of normal. Today it was Matt’s translated operations manual for the ship, and a chair in the galley.

“Hey,” Matt offered when in range to be seen.

Keith took the hint, putting down the tablet.  He didn’t answer so much as watch.

It was this kind of thing that tended to put off most of the crew. “So. We’ve got a Lion inbound, and a ...few things that apparently need to get done. Um.”

Keith’s eyes narrowed. “Just spit it out,” he said. “We’ll get it done.”

_We_ , not  _I_ . Matt filed that away for later thought. “Actually, we kind of won’t. Something seems to be wrong in the castleship. You’ve got a job from Shiro and Kolivan. And Pidge wants you to, uh, not do that.”

“ _Pidge_ wants me to not do something Kolivan and Shiro think needs doing,” Keith echoed, in an ‘am I understanding you correctly’ type of flat tone. It was ...not angry. Irritated? And weirdly heartening. A Keith that didn’t get annoyed was all too common. One that did was what his sister had told him about.

“Yeah, I get how that sounds,” sighed Matt. Embers or flame, galra or human, he’d been _trying_ to be Keith’s friend insofar as that seemed possible. “It’s been a busy morning and Red is inbound. I’ll fill you in on what I’ve got?”

The wince at mention of Red was brief but genuine and something else Matt filed away for later thinking. Keith nodded. “There won’t be much time then.”

“Lotor was seen a few days ago on Dorath,” Matt began. “We were there less than a week ago. The burned market?” He waited for Keith’s nod, and continued. “Kolivan thinks the Blades can find out what Lotor was after, but given the state of the planet now, it’ll take a while. So Shiro wants us, that is me and Olia, to go down, buy supplies for the rebellion – anything they still have on offer – and ask around, while you make contact with the Blades that Kolivan sent. As far as they’re concerned, Red’s coming in to bring money to buy those supplies with.”

Again, Keith nodded. He had a way of staring that didn’t agree well with Matt’s hindbrain, which kept gibbering about  _tiger, tiger, get in a tree, get away from the tiger_ .  Matt firmly kicked his hindbrain in the teeth to shut it up, and continued. “Pidge wants you to go with Red to Earth. Apparently she’s sending instructions with Lance, but said I needed to tell you up front that she needs you to bring back something that was important to Shiro  _before_ the Kerberos mission. Something handled, used, that kind of thing.”

Keith was a lot of things. An idiot wasn’t one of them. Matt, very quickly, found himself rethinking the wisdom of wishing for the ‘fiery’ persona his sister had told stories about. Keith was  _visibly_ holding himself back from attacking. “ _What the fuck does Pidge want with Shiro’s DNA,”_ was snarled in tones that suggested pleading ignorance would not be wise.

Nevertheless. It came down, in the end, to trust. Matt trusted his sister. He was, however, having to ask himself the abruptly difficult question of whether he trusted  _Keith_ . 

_Never cower in front of a Galra_ , they’d warned in the prisons.  _Unless you mean it._ There were advantages and disadvantages to being prey in the eyes of a Galra, just as there were advantages and disadvantages to being seen as strong. You had to think about it, decide where you needed to stand at that moment.  People who didn’t think about it tended to die a lot faster.

Right at  _this_ moment, Keith’s human side wasn’t in control. Logically, that meant  g alra instinct. Tied to Shiro. Matt thought quickly, chose.

“She didn’t tell me,” he said, forcing his voice to stay calm. “But she’s worried enough about it that she’s staying at the castleship to keep an eye on the situation, instead of going home to tell our mother we’re not _dead_. If she’s doing that, she’s got a good reason.”

_Something_ in that got through. The fire...faded. Curled in on itself. Dimmed. “If they’ve been told to expect me, they won’t interact with you,” said Keith, quiet now. “They’re very careful. Any deviation from the plan will be taken as a warning sign. Let me call Kolivan. Tell me who you want to make contact. But I’m going to have to warn you. Changing the plan like this, Kolivan will probably tell Shiro. If it’s really important Shiro doesn’t  _know_ , you’re going to need me to do my part.”

Ember or fire, Matt understood Keith was always thinking. This  _might_ well be a test. 

Another question of trust.


	8. Embers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Protocol ~ Two Paladins, One Red

Red flew out of the wormhole into the system Olia’s ship was in. Lance tracked Olia’s transponder to cover the remaining distance. She was keeping the ship in an asteroid belt to wait – somewhere the mass of ship and crew wouldn’t attract scanner attention if they just drifted. “Olia, this is Red Lion,” said Lance. “I’ll be touching down on the upper hatch.”

“Come in for a chat,” came Olia’s very wry reply.

Yeah. _That_ didn’t sound ominous _at all._ Snagging the packet of money, Lance touched Red down gently on the top of Olia’s ship, and activated his helmet’s seal. A quick drift down, a tug on the hatch door, and he dropped into the artificial gravity of...apparently, the galley.

Olia was waiting, not entirely happily. Matt too, though he _was_ happy, and showed it with a companionable hug. And off to one side, someone in Marmora armor and mask that was probably Keith in a ‘don’t talk to me’ mood.

Well. First things first. Lance handed off the packet of cash to Olia, who looked it over. “So. Um. Chat?” he said. “We don’t have much time. Zarkon’s been pretty relentless.”

“There’s a catch,” said Matt. “We had to wait until you got here to address it. Keith says the Blades will tell Shiro if someone else takes his place. You have more idea what’s going on than we do.”

“Seriously?” asked Lance. “Biggest secret keepers in the universe would go straight to Shiro?”

“They – _we_ – don’t like surprises,” said the Blade, and Lance was pretty sure that _was_ Keith under there. “They’re expecting me. If someone else shows at a rendezvous, they’re _going_ to assume it’s a trap and stay clear. The best case scenario, which isn’t likely, is they accept the meeting and then tell Kolivan the situation’s changed. Kolivan has no reason _not_ to tell Shiro. The Blades _have_ to have Voltron’s backing.”

It could be the mask. Hopefully it was the mask. It was Keith...and it didn’t sound like Keith. Lance generally expected Keith to be angrier. Then again, Lance hadn’t expected Keith to be suicidal, either. There was no telling what had happened in the months they’d not really spoken.

And he couldn’t focus on that right now, because apparently it was decision time. He took a deep breath. “Quiznak. Fine. I’ll need to land Red out of sight. Keith, go to the first meeting and then set a second for – what, a week from now? Can you do that?” This was addressed to all three of them. “Ideally what we need to do won’t take anywhere near that long, so you’ll have plenty of time to do whatever you need to.”

Matt and Olia just turned to look at Keith. “...That will work,” he said. “Though that’s fairly long term for this kind of operation. I’ll see to it, get back to you,” and the mask faced Olia and Matt, “and then find Red.”

“I can hide Red better than -” Lance stopped. That faceless mask didn’t carry any kind of change of expression, but maybe it didn’t need to. “Right. Magic sensing mumbo jumbo. I got it. Never mind.”

“And you want news of Lotor,” said Olia. “Any news?”

“All the news,” Lance confirmed. “Get whatever supplies you need that this place might have, while you’re at it.”

Keith, apparently clear that his part in this was done, left the room. Lance noticed Olia relax a bit the moment he did, while Matt came closer.

“I don’t know what you had in mind,” he said quietly. “Pidge keeps me up to date, told me you weren’t happy about...the cruiser. All I can tell you is she told me stories about Keith too, and up until _this morning_ I would have sworn that guy isn’t the one she told me about.”

Lance frowned at Matt. “Really? Because that,” he gestured to where Keith had been, “is just about _exactly_ what I expected to see.”

“I mean it,” said Matt quietly. “There’s no...fire. Or almost none.” He shook his head. “Well. You’ll know better. We’ve got to get ready. Do you know the market area? We’ll be there, if you need us.”

“...Yeah,” said Lance. “I’ll be listening on comms while I’m here. Call if something goes wrong.” He tugged down the little ladder, to climb back up to the hatch. A quick jet burst got him back into Red’s cockpit, and he headed for Dorath. Heavy forest cover nearish the market zone. He’d have a few hours at least – Red was _much_ faster than any rebel ship, and they’d need time to get there, land, and for Keith to make contact with the Blades on site.

He decided on his cover story, in case something went even more wrong and Shiro called asking why he wasn’t back yet, and then spent a while finding a thick stand of trees to hide Red under.

~*~

Olia patted the packet of credits approvingly. “Well. At least doing Voltron favors has an upside.”

Matt smiled. She was much more relaxed without a Lion on her roof and a Blade at her back. “The supplies we can afford will be a huge help. Assuming _any_ of the tradeships have come back.”

“Should,” said Olia. “We spent two days cleaning up the market, after all. Even raked the charcoal into the gravel.” She flicked an ear toward the door to the cockpit. “S’he gonna play nice? Do we need to hang a bell on him or something?”

Matt shrugged. “We probably won’t see him until after he’s made contact. Separate mission this time. Don’t tell me he _still_ worries you?”

“Cos it’s totally unreasonable to worry about a galra ninja on my ship?” Olia replied. “He’s only being helpful because he was _told_ to be. Friendly as the back end of a grellip.”

 _Porcupine_ , Matt translated. _Seven foot long porcupine_. He sighed and settled into his seat, focusing on his job because what else was there to do? There were only a handful of humans in the whole wider universe. Almost no one knew how to understand them, which had served Matt well more than once. But _galra_ , now. Just about _everyone_ knew about galra. Keith had had the benefit of the doubt because he looked human. The moment he’d proven he was also galra, the balance had shifted. Matt wasn’t sure Keith had any idea just how far.

~*~

Keith did not, in the end, wait for Olia to touch down. Once the ship was low enough, he’d dropped out of the lower hatch and dropped the thirty or so feet to the ground. It gave him plenty of time to run clear of the ship, disappear into what was left of the city.

The market of Dorath was its main feature, and where fire had been concentrated. But all around it were the support structures – places to stay, places to eat. Residences for those whose lives revolved around the making of deals.

Zarkon had destroyed at least two thirds of it. Voltron’s presence was the only reason it hadn’t been total. Even so, Olia and her crew had spent days clearing the debris from the market, using timber from nearby stands to rebuild the most essential structures. A truly barebones rebuild. Just enough to encourage traders to venture back, give the place the capital it needed to truly rebuild.

They’d used the site of a demolished warehouse for the mass grave. Keith had helped lay out the bodies; most had been unclaimed.

He skirted the site to the north, heading for a building that his mask told him had a Blades sigil painted on it in spectrum-paint – invisible to the naked eye. Since such marks could also be traps, he spent a while scouting around the building to be sure he’d be able to get out again.

When he entered, another Blade stepped out of the shadows in a corner. Nodded, and turned off their mask. A galra woman, still about half a foot taller than he was. He turned off his own, and nodded back.

“How goes the assignment?” she asked.

“They haven’t tried to kill me yet,” said Keith. “Though a few of them have thought a lot about it. How goes yours?”

“The fleet was thorough,” she replied. “Your report in the aftermath was sound; there’s nothing further we can glean from local systems.”

“So. It’s oblique.” Listening at windows, doors, nearby tables. _Oblique_ meant, basically, a lot of eavesdropping, and occasional bribes.

She nodded. “Tell your friends,” and she used a word that really meant something closer to ‘camouflage that thinks’, “to steer clear of Osswari. He’ll offer nothing of value, but when he sees they have money, he’ll do everything to take it off them.”

Keith nodded. “The plan is to stay a week. I’ll check back with you then.”

Her head tilted slightly. “There’s not much more we can do here,” she noted, but indicated compliance. “Other side of town in a week. Look for an inverted mark.”

Keith activated his mask, and nodded. “Will do.” Putting the mask on indicated the end of the conversation; the other Blade did the same, quickly getting out of sight.

He’d give Matt the warning. Finding Red wouldn’t be a problem; even from here he could feel its energy.

~*~

Time to think had let Lance recapture most of the train of thought that had got him out this far. Reminded him _why_ at least he’d thought that getting Keith back to the castleship was necessary. Which was good, because Keith up close had lost none of its power to aggravate and annoy.

He was still genuinely reassured when Red responded to Keith getting near by flashing an alert at him. “Glad you still like me best,” he said to Red, patting the controls before flicking the switch that would lower the head to let Keith board.

Keith was wearing that _mask_ again. He took a seat in the back, on the floor, back against the back wall.

“What, no hello?” asked Lance, as Red reared its head and launched skyward.

“Let’s not pretend you’d not rather shoot me,” Keith replied flatly. He seemed to study the box that held Pidge’s instructions. “This is what Pidge left for me?”

“Yeah,” said Lance. “Fill me in as we go, would you? There wasn’t time for her to tell me herself.”

“Hn,” said Keith, opening the box. Written notes, and a few small devices. Surprisingly low tech, for Pidge. In them, she outlined her theories about Shiro and why she had them. Outlined her reasons for asking them to go to Earth, why she thought it was important enough to get ‘true’ samples of Shiro’s DNA, samples that they would know without question were beyond Galra tampering.

Keith read it all aloud for Lance’s benefit, tonelessly, as Lance took Red through the wormhole into their own native solar system.

“...I think she might be right,” said Lance quietly. “There’s a lot that’s been off, since you left. Pidge will want her tests, because it’s Pidge. But it’s probably going to be you making the final call. You know him best. Speaking of, we’re nearing Earth. Where should I head for?”

Keith didn’t reply right away. Given the direction his mask seemed to be facing, he was watching the viewscreen, but that was all Lance could tell. “Park Red near where we found Blue,” he said. “My bike should still be there. Where we’re going there won’t be a better spot for Red to wait.”


	9. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caught Up ~ On Earth

Allura was a shapeshifting being, and was thus having to spend considerable effort to keep her skin from turning blue. “You _can’t_ be serious.”

Pidge adjusted her glasses. “All right,” she said. “Tell me what we’ve missed, then. Is any part of what we’ve laid out for you impossible? Improbable?”

“Shiro has fought at our side loyally, this entire time!” Allura protested. “We’ve come so close to defeat on numerous occasions. If he is, as you claim, a decoy of Zarkon’s, he’s had more than a few chances to destroy us completely.”

“I think it may be about more than that,” said Pidge. “I think it’s about destroying the symbol as much as it is the thing. Voltron is hope. You said it yourself. You and Coran both, actually, repeatedly. Zarkon doesn’t just want to take Voltron away from his enemies, he wants to take any hope of getting it _back_ away as well. If he can throw in an idea that maybe they shouldn’t even _want_ Voltron back, bonus. If I’m right, we’re rapidly running out of time.”

“I didn’t like the idea either, Allura,” said Hunk quietly. “But...she’s got a point. A lot of points. We need to know.”

“Zarkon’s been hammering at us for weeks now,” Pidge continued. “Together as Voltron, separately as each lion, we’re being run ragged. He’s _forcing_ the universe to see that he’s bigger than we are. Forcing _us_ to choose which worlds to defend, and which we have to give up as lost. Every time he does, the Coalition loses a little more cohesion. It won’t be long before he could turn a clone against us, and the breaking of Voltron would just look like the paladins... _gave up_.”

“Then...why are we not taking this to Shiro?” asked Allura. “Surely, if he knows, he can resist Zarkon’s influence. He has the will to pilot Black, after all.”

“Firstly because _we_ don’t know what’s going on,” said Pidge. “Not for sure. I can confirm his arm can receive signals, that it has that capability. But I _don’t_ know yet if someone is sending instructions. I’ve only been able to monitor his arm while he’s sleeping. Secondly because we don’t know the situation for certain. If this is a clone, then the _real_ Shiro is out there somewhere and we _should_ be trying to find him. But it might _be_ the real Shiro, just...more in need of our help than we realized. Either way – real or clone – we’re going to need Keith to help us deal with it.”

Keith would not rest until he found the real Shiro – that, Allura could easily believe. And if this _was_ the real Shiro, there was no one else he was more likely to accept help from. She nodded; that part did make sense. “So...you’re not asking Keith to take over Black,” she said. “Because that didn’t go very well.”

“Temporarily, at most,” Pidge agreed. “If it turns out we have a clone, and _if_ that clone is activated before we can prevent it. Otherwise...honestly, even a clone’s done a better job than Keith did. Zarkon won’t stop his hammering just because we’re having a crisis. If the clone never activates, he’ll settle for just trying to wear us out and then possibly aim a zaiforge cannon at us.”

“Can you block the arm from receiving signals?” asked Allura.

“ _Kind_ of,” Pidge hedged, and Hunk coughed.

“What she means is, we’d have to tell Shiro that the possibility’s there,” said Hunk sadly. “And he has enough problems with the inside of his head on a good day. We can set up some shielding while he’s here in the castleship, but out there we’re stuck hoping Black is protecting him. That Black _can_ protect him.”

“Absolutely do that,” said Allura firmly. “Coran will happily run interference for you.”

The three paladins turned their heads as an alarm sounded. “Time to scoot,” said Pidge. “He’s not going to like that Lance isn’t here.”

~*~

It felt weird to park Red where he’d found Blue, but all the signs indicated that no one had been there since they’d left Earth, and that was kind of the main thing. That and they knew how to get _back_ here.

The bike had sand in it and bits of rust, and Keith had to spend a while getting it to run. When it finally started, though, Lance put a hand on his shoulder. “Before we get started. We need to have this out.”

Keith eyed him warily. “Have _what_ out?”

“This,” said Lance, and swung a punch that, had Keith been just slightly slower, would likely have knocked him on his ass.

Keith did dodge it, and for a moment looked like he’d draw his knife. But he didn’t. He just backed away, out of reach of Lance’s fists, eyes narrowed. “Say what you need to say.”

This was _all_ wrong. Lance knew it. This wasn’t how Keith normally reacted to _anything_. Certainly not people trying to hit him. It made his words harsher, angrier. “Don’t. You. _Ever_. Try to kill yourself again.”

Keith...blinked. “I didn’t.”

“Don’t you _fucking_ lie to me,” snapped Lance. “Matt told us your ‘solution’ on Naxzela. You _dove a Galra fighter at a shielded cruiser_. Galra fighter, Keith! Red eats them like kitty catnip balls! Shielded Cruiser! The kind _Yellow_ goes bouncing right off of! _That was suicide and we both know it_.”

“Then why am I still here for you to take swings at?” asked Keith quietly, but that was wrong too. There was tonelessness to it. Something switched-off.

“You want my theory?” snapped Lance. “I think when Lotor shot the cruiser you lost your noble excuse. It wasn’t ‘for the team’. Yeah, buddy, I have had a long time to think about this. You aren’t fooling me.”

But Keith didn’t rise to the bait. It was hard to say why; if he just lacked the fire to respond, or if the barb had simply missed entirely. “We need to get going,” he said.

“Not until you answer me,” said Lance. “What is _wrong_ with you? Why the hell would you do that? What’s wrong with you _now?_ Matt tried to tell me you’d changed, but now I actually believe it. What the _fuck_ , Keith?”

They both paused. Earth’s swearwords belonged here, on Earth, but it still felt odd. Raw. Without the Paladin armor, and the Marmora armor, one could almost imagine the whole thing a truly long, horrific dream.

Keith was the first to look away. “You weren’t going to make it,” he said at last. “If that shield didn’t come down, Voltron wasn’t far enough away to escape the blast. Haggar was seconds from killing all of you. But not me. She’d positioned her ship out of range. If I broke the shield...you’d all be fine. If I broke _on_ the shield...I wouldn’t have to watch you die.”

Said so quietly. An admission that, by its tone, Keith was sure didn’t matter, not really, offered only because Lance was insisting that an admission be made. Lance’s fists clenched and unclenched. Part of him – and not a small part – really wanted to take another swing. Something wiser told him Keith wouldn’t duck this time, and he might break something more than a jaw. “You….selfish…. _jerk_ ,” he gritted. “You pigheaded, selfish, _jerk_.”

The look on Keith’s face was just confused puzzlement. The conversation had apparently gone past the bounds of comprehension. He turned his attention back to his bike, tapping the battery reserve gauge. “Let’s get this back to the shack to charge. There’s clothes there. Probably shouldn’t go anywhere in armor.”

Keith had become the one with basic common sense. The world really had flipped upside down. Lance, jaw clenched so hard it was starting to hurt, got on the bike behind Keith.

This trip was rather more sedate than their first wild ride. Or, possibly more accurately, Lance’s idea of what a wild ride entailed had changed drastically since the last one on this bike.

Eventually, Lance said, “You really don’t get it, do you.”

“Don’t take it too hard,” said Keith almost tiredly. “There’s a lot of things I don’t get. Human _or_ galra.”

“You really think that if you’d dived at that shield and broken it and _died_ , that things would have been fine?” Lance demanded, but he had a grip on his temper now. If only because a kind of cold, horrible, overwhelming pity had taken its place.

“I nearly got all of you killed before Shiro took over again,” said Keith. “And you don’t know how many Blades have died because of me.”

“So it’s that simple?” asked Lance. “You think we decided you can go ahead and die now?”

“I think the universe decided it for you,” said Keith calmly. “I don’t matter. The mission does. The man piloting Black may be Shiro or may not be, but he’s doing a better job than I did.”

That was Blade philosophy, Lance knew. But...not the way Keith was using it. No wonder Kolivan had wanted Keith moved to the rebels. “So...just to be clear here. If we get caught here on Earth, do you want me to rescue you or not?”

“You will make it back to the castleship,” said Keith quietly. “Whether I die making sure that happens doesn’t matter. If you need to leave me behind to get back to Red, _do it_. I’ll manage.”

It wasn’t a deathwish. It was _worse_ than a deathwish. It was death-acceptance to far too high a degree. Keith _really believed_ he had no value at all, to anyone, save in service to a cause. And that was wrong, and it was _stupid_ , and worst of all was Lance wasn’t at all sure how to talk Keith out of it. He wondered what it was like to train with the Blades of Marmora. Keith hadn’t been this... _out of it_ , before he’d left.

Out of it, but not in a fog. If anything, his piloting skills had improved. They made it back to the shack, which seemed pretty thoroughly abandoned. Keith nevertheless checked it out thoroughly for any surveillance devices or signs that anyone had found it, before heading inside. There was sand and dust everywhere, now, but he tugged out a small flat-top chest from under the couch that probably doubled as a bed. Inside were clothes. “We can stash armor in this.” He tossed some clothes at Lance. “You can use these. Might be somewhat uncomfortable. Unless you want to go see your family in full paladin armor.”

“My family?” said Lance. He’d been avoiding thinking about it, because he really, really wanted to see them, tell them he was okay, but home was quite a fair chunk of planet away from Galaxy Garrison.

“Yes,” said Keith calmly. “We’re already seeing Pidge’s family. But they’re near here, won’t be hard to find at all. You have a lot to fight for. You might as well take time to remind yourself.”

That was an odd way to put it. But not an offer he was going to refuse. “Um. Sure,” he said. “We can do that. I’ll keep my armor on for the time being then.”

Keith took clothes outside to change, coming back looking...really human, Lance noted, though his arms were full of galra armor that he tucked away carefully in the chest. “You’ve got Pidge’s box for her mom?”

“Yeah,” said Lance.

“We’ll go there first, then,” said Keith. “I know the way. I’ve got some ideas about where to look for Shiro’s stuff, but she’ll confirm where to start while we fill her in.”

 _We_ , Lance noted. He caught Keith by the arm. “One more thing. I _don’t_ leave people behind. Maybe that’s fine for a Blade, but I’m not a Blade. So don’t you even think for a _minute_ that you can wander off and get in trouble and the mission will be okay, you understand? I _will_ drop everything to bust you out. I mean I might taser you _after_ that, but I _will_ come get you.”

“And let the whole universe fall to Zarkon?” asked Keith flatly. “Let your _family_ be taken by a Galra slave ship? It’s the _mission_ that matters, Lance.”

Ouch. And he meant it. To him it was a clear either-or, a scale with two sides that would never weigh equally. Lance took a deep breath and tried not to think about punching anyone.

“I’m going to say it One. Last. Time. I _will_ come get you. So if you don’t want me coming to get you and then tasering you every night for a month or until we wind up breaking my family _out_ of a Galra slave cruiser, _together_ , you will _not. get. in. trouble._ Okay? We clear? Good. Let’s go find Pidge’s mom.”


	10. Shifting, Searching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shields ~ Elcris ~ The House of Holt

Hunk was hip deep in a console, with the mice helping in the smaller niches, and vaguely but fervently wishing Alteans had some kind of coffee equivalent. Sleep was reaching ‘prize to be treasured’ territory, but the shielding really needed to be completed.

“ _There_ you are,” said Shiro, and Hunk startled badly enough to bang his head on a panel. He scooted out from under the console to find an exhausted and clearly Not In The Mood For Whatever Bullshit This Was Shiro glaring at him. “What are you doing?”

“Um.” Hunk wasn’t the best liar at the best of times. “Pidge came up with an adjustment we could make to the castle shields,” he said, hoping that would be enough. “And, you know, not wanting to die in my sleep, I agreed to help put them in.”

Shiro did _not_ look good. Of course, none of them did lately. Four lions did not a Voltron make, and Zarkon seemed quite happy to continue throwing ships at them until they eventually fell over and some hapless planet got destroyed. But Shiro wasn’t just exhausted. The man was borderline _haggard_. “Fine,” he said tiredly. “Just ...have we heard from Lance?”

“No,” said Hunk, wishing he could say anything else. “But – I’m sure he’s fine. He’ll make it back. Red’s fast.”

Shiro ran a hand through his hair, and seemed for a moment like he’d say something else. “Let me know the _moment_ you do,” was all that actually came out.

As he turned to go, Hunk got to his feet, held out a hand. “Hey...are you okay? Can I help?”

It almost worked. Almost. It was there on his face, the open question _should I be?_ But it didn’t stay. Tired stoicism returned, and Shiro almost managed to be reassuring when he said, “I’ll be fine. You...should probably finish those adjustments, and get some sleep. I’m sure it won’t be long before another fleet knocks on doors.”

~*~

The money Shiro had sent was a godsend. Olia was happy to have it, though Matt thought she might be happier that Keith was gone with the Red Lion. Matt could understand it – well, sort of. Keith wasn’t exactly a social butterfly, but at the same time, he’d met plenty of humans that were a lot worse. Earth was going to have a lot of work, whenever it joined the rest of the universe.

The market of Dorath was nothing like it had been, of course. Not even a third of the merchant ships had returned yet, and there wouldn’t be support for more than that for months yet. But the loss in business meant the ships that _were_ here were anxious to strike deals.

The ship was soon loaded with medical supplies, which were sorely needed on far too many worlds. When the last crate was loaded into place, the final scraps of the money were spent treating the crew to a decent meal. It was a bit of a splurge, but it meant some of the money stayed on Dorath, to help rebuild.

And it meant Matt got to sample something clear, that tasted a bit like fake strawberry flavoring with a side order of melon. The main thing was that it was cold, really. He turned a small packet of tiny crystals over and over in his fingers. “I wonder why this stuff.”

Olia shook her head. “No telling. No telling why that one does _anything_. Galra that sneak are even worse than galra that don’t.”

Matt wrinkled his nose at her. He liked her, really. She was good people, even if she did kind of look like a two-legged spaniel. But she wasn’t really very _curious_ , and he missed being around people that were.

Lotor, Matt suspected, was a very, very strange galra. He tested things. The little packet of crystals walked over each finger, one by one. They’d bought several samples. Enough to send back with the Red Paladin, as well as give to the Blades. Different methods, but _someone_ , eventually, would know why Lotor wanted this stuff. Why he’d come to Dorath for news of it.

Marmoran armor in his peripheral vision was something he’d gotten used to with Keith around, so it took Matt a second to register that this set belonged to someone much bigger than Keith. Someone...possibly female. With armor it was occasionally hard to tell. Olia’s ears went flat against her skull as the Blade sat, casually, at their table.

“Where is my compatriot?” asked the Blade, and Matt mentally checked the tickybox marked ‘female’. Definitely a woman’s voice behind the mask.

“...Don’t you know?” asked Matt. His hindbrain was giving him _tiger, tiger_ warnings again. Whoever she was, happy she wasn’t.

“He is _supposed_ to be _here_ ,” said the Blade. “With your crew. On Dorath. He is not.”

“We didn’t _touch_ your _compatriot_ ,” growled Olia, lip curling to show a bit of fang. But she couldn’t help the cant of her ears, that showed clearly how threatened she felt. _Never bow to a galra unless you mean it_. Some species didn’t have a choice.

Matt moved quickly to get between the Blade and Olia. It wasn’t that she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, defend herself. This had to de-escalate, quickly, and Olia couldn’t hide her fear. “The Red Paladin took him,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “They’re supposed to be back within the week.”

The Blade was still for a moment. “This breaks protocol.”

That...didn’t sound good. At all. And Matt had no idea what the proper response was. How much of Keith’s attitude was galra, how much human? He had to guess. Quickly. “Was he supposed to refuse the Red Paladin?”

The woman’s voice was cold. “He was _supposed_ to inform base command.” The Blade looked down. “If he does not return for the scheduled rendezvous, I will report him lost.”

Olia didn’t want to get anywhere near this woman, clearly. Matt was stuck solving it. “...Can you hold off reporting to base command until then?” he asked. “I’m sure K – your compatriot – would’ve called this in if the Paladin had okayed it. He’s been very conscientious about that.” Matt devoutly hoped so, anyway. The truth was that nobody asked, but tended to assume that _of course_ Keith was reporting on the ship’s movements and activities. It was part of why the crew had problems with him, although in fairness that was not a short list.

And it seemed Matt had asked a genuinely difficult question. He had the impression that the Blade was studying him, although with that mask on it was hard to say for certain. “...You are of their kind,” she said slowly.

“Human?” said Matt. “Yeah. I’m human. We’re...uh. Not always the best followers of protocol.” Which was a _lot_ more true than this woman really needed to ever know, but might help in the moment. “The Red Paladin wouldn’t hurt him.” _Much._ “I’m sure they’ll have answers when they come back.”

“Until then,” said the Blade, in a tone that suggested some conclusion had been reached, “I will stay with you and your crew in his place. There is little I can do here in any event. Speak to me as you would him.” She drew back her hood, revealing a dark violet mane, thick but short. The mask disappeared to show a fully galra face, dark purple skin, yellow eyes, and fangs. “I am Elcris.”

Olia gave Matt a narrow-eyed, _now we have an even_ bigger _Blade_ glare. Ears still flat against her skull, she said, in a calm tone that did not match her ears at all, “I’m Olia. This idiot here is Matt.”

~*~

Lance felt truly weird to be wearing blue Paladin armor while on an Earth bike, hovering at high speed – or at least, what had been high speed a few years ago – over Earth desert. The helmet was all right, while on the bike (the visor certainly helped) and he had on an oversized jacket that Keith had had around. It wasn’t Shiro’s, and it wasn’t Keith’s, and that was all that Lance knew about it because Keith refused to elaborate.

The area around Galaxy Garrison was, more or less, a military base. There was an outer fence, some surveillance cameras, and inside was a residential area for the families of instructors, staff, and students. Getting past this security wasn’t really a problem. Lance had done it alone several times, and judging by the way Keith scaled the fence, he had too. Once inside the perimeter, Lance gave Keith a shrug. “I hope you know where to go.”

“I do.” Keith set off at a quick lope toward a specific section of houses.

“...Mind telling me how you know where the Holts live, when Pidge didn’t know you before Shiro landed in the desert?” asked Lance. It was _weird_ how that came to mind now that he was back here. Earth felt like ...a tiny rock in a big, big universe.

“Shiro visited them all the time before Kerberos,” said Keith. “Told me where to call, where to go if I needed him. Take _off_ the helmet, Lance.”

“What?” said Lance, then realized – well, yes, he’d left the blue helmet on. He quickly took it off, tucked it under his arm. The box Pidge had said was for her mother, and which now included messages from Matt, he tucked into the helmet. With the jacket he looked odd, but in the dusk, not _too_ odd. “Yeah. Sorry. So, which house?”

Keith had learned how to blend in. He leaned against a street lamp, and just... _belonged_ there. Lance felt himself blushing, ever more out of place in Altean armor, and wrapped the jacket around him. “That way,” said Keith, after a few moments. “Sorry. It’s been a while.”

Lance tagged after him, just relieved Keith knew where to go. The houses were all identical, save for a few alterations to front lawns, numbers, and the names on the mailboxes. Keith wasn’t _certain_. He paused near each mailbox, checking the name before moving on, but he did seem fairly sure of the direction at least. And paused, at last, by a mailbox modestly lettered with ‘Holt’. “She has to be here waiting for someone to have news,” he said quietly.

 _You’d know,_ Lance realized with a frown, but said, “Her lucky day then.”

Keith slanted a look at him. “She won’t know me. Does she know you?”

“No,” said Lance slowly. But Pidge _knew_ that. He fished the box out of his helmet. Opened it. “Thank God Pidge thinks ahead.” He tugged out a photograph. “Okay. Get ready to knock.”

Keith gave him a wary look, but shrugged and stepped toward the door. Raised his hand, waited for Lance to get the photograph ready.

“Knock,” said Lance.

Keith did so, and then stepped to the side, so that Lance would be framed in the doorway if it opened. For a few heartbeats nothing happened.

The door opened slowly. Lance presented the photograph, holding it forward so that it would be the first visible thing.

A picture of Pidge, in her green Paladin armor but without her helmet, with Rover hovering in the air behind her.

Lance got the impression of an older woman, who had possibly forgotten what smiles were. His wrist was grabbed _hard_ and he was yanked inside.

Keith’s reflexes were _fast_ , and even so, he barely made it inside after him before the door was slammed shut again.


	11. The House of Holt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those Left Behind ~ Floating

The house of Holt was …

Lance wasn’t a sensitive. He didn’t pick up weird mystical mojo the way Allura did, or Keith at times. But the house made his skin crawl. Pidge’s mother was a woman of keen intelligence and iron will, and she had been forced to live for years with an utter absence of information on her husband, her son, and her daughter, knowing she was being lied to and helpless to do anything but wait. Wait, and refuse to buy the lies, refuse to leave.

Lance sat down in a comfortable chair and was, automatically and instinctively, on his very best behavior. Sit up straight, feet together, no sprawling. It didn’t surprise him at all that Keith was doing the exact same thing. She had that kind of presence.

She held out her hand. Lance handed over the photograph. And then took the box out of his helmet, and held that out too. “We’re still looking for your husband. Um. Ma’am.”

A dog padded into the room, sniffed Lance and Keith in turn, came over to sit at Mrs. Holt’s feet. She took the box, the photograph. There were letters inside, handwritten. (Smart, Lance realized now. Handwriting. Something harder to forge. He wouldn’t put it past both Matt and Pidge to have put codes in the letters too.)

When she started crying, she kept a hand by her face to keep the tears from smudging the letters. Keith got up, found a box of tissues, set them down by her, and returned to his seat as if nothing had happened.

They stayed that way, the only sound the rustling of paper pages and tissues and tears, until she had gone through the contents of the box. She looked at the two men. “So. You would be Lance,” she said, looking at him. “And you, Keith. Thank you, for this. No word of Sam?”

Lance half expected Keith to mention that the last word of Sam was of being sent to a labor camp somewhere. But he didn’t. If anything, he seemed to expect Lance to handle this. Which...might not actually be the stupid option. “Not yet,” Lance offered. “We’ve got people all over the universe keeping an ear out though.”

“Katie says you need my help,” she said, absently tucking strands of hair behind one ear. “What is it you need?”

“I know Shiro visited here a lot, before Kerberos,” said Keith. “I need to know where the Garrison would have stored his things after he was declared dead.”

“And, um,” said Lance. “...I need you to get word to my family, and Hunk’s. If that’s all right.” When Keith gave him a surprised look, he said, “I want to see them. I do. But there’s no time. And I...wouldn’t want to leave. And I’ve got to. I’ll write a letter if that’s okay.”

“I would rather leave with you,” said Mrs. Holt quietly. “My family’s in the stars now. I want to find them.”

“Earth needs you here,” said Keith. “The Galra _will_ come. You know the Garrison’s lying. Earth doesn’t have the defenses to survive what’s coming. Voltron will protect Earth if it possibly can, but ...people are going to get hurt. Taken. Everything your son and daughter loves is here. Take steps to protect it. They want to come home. Help there be a home for them to come back to.”

Lance looked over at Keith. That hadn’t been the new, quiet version. That had been the intense Keith he remembered. Which was the _only_ reason he wasn’t snarking about it, because it was a hell of a thing to lay on a woman who’d lost her entire family to a war that hadn’t yet reached Earth. He wanted to find out why _this_ was what got that intensity.

He’d hit a chord, at least; Mrs. Holt nodded, though her fingers ran over the little pieces of tech that Pidge had left in the box. Lance didn’t want to begin to guess what they were. Protection, communication, both – whatever Pidge had been able to grab, possibly. “Shiro’s effects are probably in one of the secure storage units,” she said. “Along with some of my husband’s. His house was cleaned out when he was declared dead.”

“I know,” said Keith quietly. “I remember that section. Thanks.”

“Be careful leaving,” said Mrs. Holt. “I’ve been in contact with the other families. The Garrison knows I don’t believe them, but there’s never been any proof. You two...you would be proof.”

Lance smiled. “If they catch us, ma’am. We’ll be fine. Thanks for the warning.”

“Lance,” said Keith quietly. “A moment.” He got up, to step to another room. Curious, Lance moved to follow him.

Keith chose a bedroom, closed the door. The resulting awkwardness was brief, though. “Take Red and see your family,” he said.

“What?” blinked Lance. “No. You’re going to need -”

“No. I won’t,” said Keith. “You’re not a Blade. _I am_. I’ll be faster if I can go alone. Take the bike back to Red, use Red to drop the bike back here – and then go be a huge distraction for the Garrison, like you did with Blue. _They will silence her,_ Lance. If it’s just her word against theirs, and a box of photos, they _will_ silence her. Give the world something it can’t ignore. Distract the garrison for...an hour, tops. Then go fly Red to see your family. When I’ve got what you’re after, I’ll take the bike back to the shack and meet you there. Got it?”

Lance’s jaw dropped. “How do you know? I mean...the Garrison _has_ to know about the Galra by now. I could see them trying not to start a panic, but-”

“You heard the line about the Kerberos mission being pilot error,” said Keith flatly. “Guess what my ‘discipline problem’ was. There was no way I was going to let them pin it on Shiro.”

“...So they booted you out.” Admittedly, Keith probably _had_ been a discipline problem about it. It was all too easy to imagine Keith hearing some officer say that and taking a fist to the man’s face. But Lance could see the point. Pidge had been just as firm, and just as ready to punch an officer over it. Mrs. Holt could ...okay. Yeah. She needed backup. Lance nodded. “But we still don’t have much time.”

Keith’s head tilted slightly. Almost, there was a little smile. “What’s that phrase you love? Razzle dazzle? Have fun with it. The more cameras the better. Just don’t break anything. When Voltron comes back here they need to be willing to welcome you.”

“If you’re not at the shack when I get there,” Lance warned, “I _will_ have Red tear the Garrison apart.”

Keith blinked. Then said, “Detention block’s in the west wing, medical wards in the north. If they’ve got me it’ll be in one of those, try detention first.”

“I’m going to smile and pretend I have no idea how you remember _that_ ,” said Lance, and opened the door. There was a steady sort of look on Mrs. Holt’s face, as she held the box on her lap. An iron sort of look. Lance took a mental note; if Pidge ever looked like that, he would be making sure before anything else that _he_ was not her target, because whoever was, was screwed.

“Are you ready?” she asked them.

Lance nodded; Keith took that as a cue and did the same.

Mrs. Holt got up then, setting the precious box down with care, and went to a bookshelf. Actual physical books were rare, and rather valuable. She chose one with expert care and held it out. “Tell Katie and Matt this was Sam’s favorite,” she said.

Lance accepted it. “I will,” he said. “We’ll try to avoid being seen until we’re away from here.” He paused. “Um. But after that, it may get...sparkly. It’ll just be me, okay?”

“Does Katie’s lion look like yours?” asked Mrs. Holt.

“...Mostly?” Lance hedged. “Hers has a big shield on its back though. And it’s green.”

“We need to go, ma’am,” said Keith. “Sorry, but...we’re short of time. Your daughter needs backup.”

Mrs. Holt nodded, and turned out the light in the room. Streetlights through the curtains barely illuminated the path to the door. “Good luck, boys. Thank you.”

They walked to the door, Lance had the book tucked into a pocket of the borrowed jacket. “See you in a bit,” said Keith. He ducked off to one side, and...that was that, he was gone. Lance blinked. New trick. But he had his own job to do. He ran for the fences, and the bike.

~*~

Shiro...drifted.

He _should_ have been sleeping. God knew he was more than tired enough to. But it never _felt_ like sleep, especially lately.

It felt like being adrift in space, except there was air, and he wasn’t cold. The empty dark with distant stars, floating.

Probably, if he _hadn’t_ nearly starved to death while adrift in space, it would have been a more comforting state. Sometimes he cried out – and found himself in his quarters, in his bed, not sleeping. Sometimes just the fear of the empty dark was enough to scare him fully awake.

Sometimes, he dropped out of the drift into a dream or a memory, and that was never good. Bright lights, _pain_ , helplessness. People talking over him like his words, his screams, meant no more than the yowling of a cat. Those never lasted long, and when he woke from them more often than not he was shaking.

Some nights he could get ...not _sleep_ , but a kind of rest, by meditating. Some nights he did exercises on the floor of his room until the exhaustion rendered him unconscious, and on those occasions it was invariably an attack alarm that dragged him up off the floor.

Every bit of focus that he had was bent toward keeping the team alive. There wasn’t anything left, anymore, for anything else. He had to present as whole a face as he could, or the alliances would fall apart. _Everything_ would fall apart. And then everyone, everywhere, would have his nightmares.

Keith had almost killed himself. Lance had disappeared. Zarkon’s attacks were not letting up. _What kind of leader let this happen?_ He’d pushed them too hard. (But he’d _had_ to, hadn’t he? Zarkon had no mercy. But didn’t that mean _he_ needed to?) Not hard enough? No, that wasn’t right. They were still boys, really, and this was war on a scale no human had ever conceived of.

Shiro wasn’t at all sure how much longer this could possibly go on. But that wasn’t the question, was it? You fought until you couldn’t fight anymore. Hopefully, your enemy died before you did. That was all war came down to.

The attack alarm blared. Bleary-eyed, Shiro rolled out of bed and wasn’t particularly surprised to realize he hadn’t gotten undressed in the first place. He grabbed his armor and helmet, the movements automatic and rote-mechanical.

He still had Pidge, Hunk and Allura. He wouldn’t fail them. They would survive this fight, at the very least. The next fight...well. One fight at a time.

He would have given his one remaining arm for a pot of black coffee.


	12. Dance of Paladins Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hives ~ Home Cooking

Humanity had, over the centuries, compared itself to many other species. It had hives, like bees. It ran in packs, that it called tribes. Humanity loved to consider itself a predator, and within the limited confines of Earth, was not entirely wrong to do so.

It took spending months living among galra, fighting galra, to know that really, humanity wasn’t a predator species at all. It was a _prey_ species that had gotten the hang of tools to make up for its many natural disadvantages.

Not entirely human, not entirely galra, Keith walked along the streets like he belonged there. He didn’t look different. He didn’t _act_ different. (Like bees. Guard the outside of the hive, but once past the perimeter, surely you had a right to be there.) Of course, Galaxy Garrison had more than one hive. Which meant more than one perimeter.

He cleared the outer fence in one clean jump, and started looking for camouflage he could use. A student, first. Someone about his size, wearing the right cadet stripes, abruptly had an unlucky night. Keith dragged the cadet into a supply closet, took enough clothes to blend in. Second perimeter breached.

Galra security took as a given that enemies would act like _galra_. That they would charge in, swords waving, guns blazing. That was why the Blades could get around it by sticking to the walls, moving in nonconventional ways. Galra were predators. Predators did not _slink_. They _stalked_. Human security, on the other hand, took as a given that enemies would act like...well, _prey_. That intruders would try to sneak, try to avoid being seen. Security cameras had wide angles, motion sensors would cover whole doorways. Movement required passage through choke points that were easily defensible.

The way around that was to either avoid the choke points, or fool them, and walk as the predator walked – proudly, openly, with every right to be there. The wasp in the beehive could move freely – provided it didn’t try to fly in through the front door. A galra strike team would probably just carve holes in the walls until they got where they wanted. Keith, on the other hand, tried to remember being a cadet, and kept an eye out for a Garrison officer that was young enough to have clothes that might fit and a keycard that would work.

The first one that fit those criteria _also_ had a very unlucky night. Because he needed more time, the officer wound up in a supply closet, bound hand and foot, with a gag made from a cadet’s jacket. Keycard at the chokepoint. Third perimeter.

Secure storage was in a lower level. Keith was studying a floor map when every alarm in the place seemed to go off at once. Ducking quickly into a dark office, he watched a lot of confused looking faces running for the armory. That _had_ to be Lance’s doing. He waited until the corridor was empty, then slipped out.

Pidge had had some additional requests. Now was a good time to deal with them.

Keith walked along the corridor, studying the nameplates on the doors until he got to one that belonged to a general. His Blade sliced the deadbolt easily. Once inside, he took out one of Pidge’s gadgets from a pocket, and attached it to the outer casing of the office’s computer. Then he left; he’d come back for it in a bit.

End of the corridor, stairwell. Another secure deadbolt, easily cut through. Secure storage was...a lot of neatly labeled boxes, in rack upon rack, and a lone security guard who barely had time to be surprised before he, also, had a very unlucky night. This one got dragged into a bathroom stall.

Another of Pidge’s devices on _that_ computer. It could work while Keith did, searching for where in this maze Shiro’s personal effects would be. There wouldn’t be much. He’d only kept the important things in his Garrison quarters, and there wasn’t a whole lot Shiro thought was _that_ important.

Gotcha. Pidge’s device was still ...doing whatever it was she’d set it to do. So Keith left it, and ran for the corridor that had Shiro’s boxes. He knew what would work, it was just a matter of getting it.

It was still...an unexpected sort of stab, to see a life reduced to a few smallish office boxes. Keith tugged one down. Some photographs, keys. Wallet. Stuff needed for everyday life that would have no use on a rocketship. A mesh bag ordinarily used for grocery shopping got pressed into service. The photos were taken, and a bead loop. Keith checked the other boxes, but he couldn’t take _everything_. From Pidge’s letter and what Lance had told him, most of this would just be junk. Red’s cockpit wasn’t that big, and Lance would probably have things from his family to put in there too. What he had fit the bill of the requests. It would have to serve. The boxes were put back as they were, and he ran back to retrieve Pidge’s device. Then back upstairs.

Secrecy didn’t matter, now. Getting out with the goods did. So he kept running – back to the general’s office for the second device, and then out that office’s window.

A quick look around said Lance had done a truly excellent job of grabbing the attention of every free eye in the Garrison. Shouts, spotlights, occasional gunfire, and sometimes a quick glimpse of the Red Lion having the time of its life playing tag with jets; a giant cat among the crows.

Perfect.

Shedding the officer’s hat and jacket, Keith tossed the sack of prizes over the perimeter fence and jumped after it. He stuck mostly to alleys between the houses as he loped for the second fence, the bike, and safety.

~*~

Lance had a quiet enough trip to the bike, and then out to Red. Keith’s bike was pretty responsive – nowhere near a Lion, but really kind of fun, in its own way. Since he would be taking it with him, he rode the bike as close as possible to Red. Faster than running, certainly.

He got Mrs. Holt’s book tucked away, then caaaarefully took the bike up in Red’s jaw. This was the tricky part, really. He flew Red close to the ground, but not touching – a Lion pretty well thundered when running along the ground, and he needed there to be a window of time before he was officially spotted. So he stayed under the radar, circled wide around the Garrison until he reached a point on the perimeter that was fairly close to the right direction for running for the shack, and set the bike down there. Then flew off a ways before touching down and letting the Lion roar as loudly as it could.

When half the lights in the Garrison’s residential area lit up brightly, Lance grinned. He patted the console. “Razzle dazzle time!”

Red was a complete showoff, and Lance was prepared to fight anyone that tried to say otherwise. It leaped, bounded, roared at the slightest indication from the console. When the Garrison scrambled jets, the giant cat seemed to enjoy toying with them – the trick being not to damage the pilots, really, because Earth jets were nowhere near powerful enough to stand up to Red’s fangs and claws. Lance kept an eye on the chronometer; Keith had asked for an hour, and for this to have any chance he was going to have to (however reluctantly) trust Keith knew what he was talking about. So he let Red play with the local military for an hour – during which time they tried calling backup in from apparently _every_ direction – and then he turned Red’s course east and south. When he got to cities, he flew – staying below commercial airline space, and somewhat above the tops of buildings. He made a point of letting Red roar loudly. People needed to know. Sleep could happen later.

East and south, to Varadero, trailing fighter jets like a swarm of angry wasps. By the time Red was flying over the Caribbean, it was fairly clear from the lights alone that entire towns had been alerted to watch for the Lion’s passing.

 _Write this off,_ was Lance’s take. It was a bit worrying, in that really, he wasn’t there to hurt anyone. But if it meant Earth prepared just a _little_ more for the Galra he couldn’t mind too much. The empire would steamroll this entire planet.

He touched Red down on four front lawns and a section of street. The sun was coming up, here. Red sat almost primly, ignoring the jets that didn’t really want to fight it _too_ badly in case they blew up half a neighborhood. Varadero was a tourist town; blowing it up wouldn’t look good. The families living there came out of their houses, watching the giant red robot fearfully.

Okay. Yeah. _That_ was too much. Lance tapped the console. “Time to go say hi.” The head lowered, jaw opening. People stepped back.

Until Lance stepped out, and his mother’s voice (don’t cry _do not_ cry) said his name, and really there was no group hug in the universe quite as good as the group hug of your entire family welcoming you home.

~*~

Keith got back to the shack first, and had time to pull a tarp over the bike and camouflage it with old brush and tumbleweeds before dawn. He didn’t really expect Lance back soon; for the plan to work, Red would have to fly much slower than it was capable of going, so people had time to see it, react to it. So he had time to pump water for a shower, and go through such things as he had, deciding if any of it was worth taking into the universe. He settled on the portable drive of music, and the clothes Shiro had returned to Earth in, and let the rest go. Changing back into his Marmora armor, he stretched out on the couch to sleep until the heavy thud of Red’s paws touching earth woke him. He rolled off the couch then, grabbed the mesh sack, and headed out to meet it. The head lowered, jaw opening to let him in.

Lance had _definitely_ found his family. “What the hell _is_ all this?” asked Keith, trying to wedge himself in somewhere. “And what’s that smell?”

“Heathen,” said Lance indignantly. “The _smell_ is my grandmother’s ropa vieja, which you are _not touching_. The rest...okay, I admit, they got kind of carried away.” The Lion straightened up, and this time Lance took it skyward. “They were _really_ happy to see me. That was a good plan. I told them to watch out for Mrs. Holt, too, and Hunk’s family. Lots of photos, some videos...let the Garrison hide _that_.”

Keith bit his lip on his opinion of his plan, now that ‘his plan’ involved being vertically wedged between boxes of who knew what when some of the contents seemed to _slosh_ and they were flying through a wormhole while his nose was stuffed with the smell of...some kind of marinated meat. He hadn’t eaten, and the last time he _had_ it had been food goo, and this was _not_ fun. Part of him was itching to rip it all to shreds just to have room to breathe. (And, possibly, track down that food smell.) Earth had new context for him that still needed processing. “How long before time’s up?”

“Four more days,” said Lance. “Quintants. By this chronometer. We’re good.”

 _That_ , Keith wasn’t sure of. The Marmora armor reminded him that Kolivan didn’t take well to any deviation from procedure. And he’d _set_ a time frame, but he wasn’t supposed to be on the Lion at all. They might well come back to find Shiro had already been told where they’d gone, and that would be both leaders angry and annoyed. He kept a firm grip on the mesh bag. If it got lost in this mess, who knew when it would be found again.

The food from Lance’s grandmother was going to incite cockpit murder if he didn’t get a grip on it, though. Keith activated the Marmora mask to filter it out. _That_ was not a reaction he’d anticipated. He’d never actually thought to wonder how much of the universe was functionally vegetarian before. But whatever was in those containers, it was not vegetarian and it was _horrifically_ tempting.

“Uh. Lance?”

“Yeah?”

What’d you call that food your grandmother made?”

“Ropa Vieja.” The Red Lion began descent. “We’re almost there.”

“Steer clear of any other Blades you see for a while,” said Keith quietly. “Until the smell clears. Just in case. Okay?”

“It’s not my fault the galra can’t appreciate good food,” said Lance, indignant.

“I want you to listen to me very carefully,” said Keith. “ _That_ is not the problem.”


	13. Return Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Galra Drama ~ Oceans ~ Home

Elcris was...helpful. Matt was finding himself second guessing his previous conclusions, because she was helpful the same way Keith had been; sort of standoffish, not prone to speaking, but if you asked her to do anything she did it thoroughly and without complaint. She _didn’t_ wear her mask, but then, she was very clearly galra. And she was _not_ lonely. And she was not _unhappy_ either. Helping was a duty she was doing. It wasn’t affecting her in any way that Matt could tell.

It _did_ affect Olia, who was still fighting to keep her ears upright whenever Elcris was in her field of vision. And Olia was by no means the only one. Exchanging a galra for a _bigger_ galra had not, apparently, pleased anyone.

They saw the Red Lion fly overhead while playing a game of colored stones that was somewhere between checkers and go fish. It was quickly abandoned when the Lion dropped down to settle near the ship, metal tail curling around its giant claws. The head lowered, and the Red Paladin and Keith came down the ramp; Lance held something under one arm.

Elcris rose, sniffing the air as Keith approached her. He lowered his mask as he saw hers gone.

“You did not say you would be abandoning your post,” she said to him. “I felt compelled to take your place.”

Matt blinked. Galra had _subtext_. There was subtext there. The shift in Keith’s posture confirmed it; a slight curling-in. Submission? Even Lance was staring, although to judge by his expression, he was trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

“Kolivan?” asked Keith.

“I have not informed him,” said Elcris. “You have four more quintants.” She bowed rather deeply toward Lance, who clearly had _no_ idea what was going on but straightened up regardless, possibly on the grounds that when seven foot tall women bow to you it’s a good idea to indicate you’ve noticed.

“It will be done,” said Keith. “And you?”

“I will remain until new orders arrive,” said Elcris.

That seemed to be the end of it; she strolled off, quickly disappearing. Keith took a deep breath and visibly relaxed.

“What. The. _Hell_ ,” said Lance. “Did I just get you in trouble?”

“No, I did,” said Keith. “But I saw it coming. Look. I’ll call Kolivan. You hand _that_ over.” He gestured at Lance’s arm. “Am I still coming with you?”

Lance gave a worried look in the direction Elcris had disappeared to. “Uh. Up to about two minutes ago that would’ve been a ‘yes’, but -”

“Leave that mess to me,” said Keith. He bowed to Olia. “I need to use your comm.”

Olia just pointed toward the hatch. “Go on,” she said, resigned. To Matt, she said, “Little galra. Big galra. Now galra _drama_.”

Matt grinned, as Keith disappeared into the ship. Lance seemed to remember what he was there for once both the galra were gone. He took the book out from under his arm. “We talked to your mom,” he said. “She was okay when we left, still at the Garrison with the dog. We gave her your letter, and Pidge’s. She said to tell you this was your dad’s favorite book. I’m supposed to take it to Pidge, too.”

Matt hadn’t expected the sight of a _book_ to shake him. He’d seen a lot of books, after all, before Kerberos. Digital, physical, the whole of growing up had involved books. But a book from Earth – a book from _home_ , a book he’d seen in his father’s hands off and on for years, a book that smelled like his mother’s house – that was a thread that tied the present, on a devastated planet on a planet he hadn’t even _heard_ of a few years ago, surrounded by aliens, to a past where everyone had been human, the rain had been water, and he’d known to within a few miles where every member of his family was. His hands wrapped around the old book like an anchor, and he had to close his eyes and focus on breathing because he didn’t want to break down crying and then have to explain it. He would, but not right now.

Lance stepped in close, a hand on his shoulder. “I know,” he said. “S’okay. I got to see my family for the first time since finding Blue, I think we all cried ourselves an ocean.”

That did it. Lance got hugged in the same way drowning people hug life preservers. Matt felt pats on his back, until the storm passed. “...Thanks.”

“I get it,” said Lance simply. “Your mom feels the same. She wanted to come out here, but the Garrison’s apparently not admitting the Galra are out here. So she’s going to help get Earth ready.”

Matt rubbed at his eyes, dry now and burning, and tried a smile. “God help the Galra,” he said, a bit shakily. “I better copy this, if you have to take it to Pidge.”

Lance stepped back. “Sure,” he said. “Anything I can do to help, while I’m here? Soon’s Keith’s back, I need to go.”

Matt looked at Olia. “Um. No. Go ahead and catch a nap, I guess?”

“...That is...actually not at all a bad idea,” Lance admitted. “Thanks.” He made his way into the ship.

Olia looked at the book. “Your mother sends you a book? Your whole world in danger, she sends a book?”

“She’s a very smart woman,” Matt smiled. It felt a little weird, after all that crying, but right, too.

And she _was_. Any number of codes the family used depended on specific editions of specific books. That was why this _specific_ book mattered. Even a digital copy wouldn’t be quite the same. Matt took out a scanner, and started copying images of every page. There were little notes in the margins, a few passages highlighted. Codes within codes.

Mama Holt was a very smart woman. If Matt’s father was alive out there, anywhere, this book was likely the key to pulling signal from noise.

~*~

Lance found a couch easily enough, and fell back on it to find sleep almost immediate. There hadn’t been a lot of sleep _before_ this mission. Emotional exhaustion from the day’s events had drained him, and the bill was presented the moment he wasn’t actually required to do something.

So it took some determined shaking on Keith’s part to wake him up. “Hey,” he said. “You need to talk to Kolivan.”

There was an angry crust around Lance’s eyes; he rubbed at them. “whfr? Lmfslp.”

Keith sounded aggravated. “You’re acting without authorization from the Black Paladin and you wonder why Kolivan’s edgy?” he said. “I’ve told him what you and Pidge told me, so he understands why I broke protocol. But you have to tell him yourself, too. You’re second in command after Shiro. He has to decide who to believe.”

 _What_? But of course that was part of what flying the Red Lion was. Even if Shiro hadn’t had much to say to him on that front. Galra were sometimes very weird people to deal with. Lance’s eyes felt like they were on fire, but he rolled off the couch. Onto the floor, as it happened, which was slightly rusted metal grating and not particularly pleasant. Keith gave him a hand up.

Kolivan was, as far as Lance could tell, as dour as ever. Lance slid into what was probably usually the pilot’s seat, and tried to look chipper even though his head felt full of lead. “Hi,” he said.

“Red Paladin,” said Kolivan gravely. “Why do you act against your leader and without his knowledge? Why do you involve the Blades of Marmora?”

Eeeeeesh. Put that way, it kind of sounded like mutiny. Part of Lance cringed. Rubbing his face, trying like mad to wake up properly, he said, “Something’s wrong with Shiro. All of us – all the Paladins, I mean – we all see it. We just don’t know exactly what’s causing it. We don’t want to hurt him, we’re trying to help him. But he won’t listen to any of us. He’s not hearing us.”

“So you wish to unseat him,” said Kolivan, as if this were the most logical conclusion.

“What?” protested Lance. “No! No, definitely not. We want to _help_ him. It’s just – we need information to do that. So I came out here to borrow Ke- uh, your Blade here, to get it.”

Kolivan spared a stern look in what Lance presumed was Keith’s direction; Keith was behind him somewhere, so he wasn’t entirely sure. “So I am informed. Infiltrating a human military installation.”

The Garrison probably did count as that, yeah, but again Lance was a little twitchy at the phrasing. “Um. Yeah,” he agreed. “They’re friends. I think Keith can help us reach him. I mean. If you’ll let us borrow him a while longer.”

“And if you cannot help the Black Paladin?” asked Kolivan.

Ouch. Lance tried kicking his brain into gear. He honestly hadn’t thought _that_ far ahead. He just wanted to get things _working_ again. Get Shiro back to being, well, _Shiro_. If they’d done all this for nothing… “I can’t say,” he admitted. “Is it all right if I promise to call, if that’s the case?”

Kolivan stared past Lance then, presumably at Keith. If there was silent communication going on, Lance was far too groggy to parse it.

Keith said, “Voltron will stand with the Blades of Marmora, Kolivan.”

The old Blade nodded slowly. “Very well. I will contact Elcris. She will take your place on this ship. The work must continue.”

The screen went dark, and Lance’s eyes closed. “...I missed something.”

“The important thing right now is he won’t tell Shiro what we’re doing,” said Keith quietly. “Not until we’ve had a chance to set things right. Go back to sleep. I’m not riding with a half-dead pilot.”

Sleep. What a beautiful, _beautiful_ idea. Lance barely registered that he was still in the pilot’s seat as he let go his grip on consciousness.

~*~

The chronometer said it was most of a day later that Lance was awake enough to function. He wasn’t really surprised, though he did feel guilty – it was almost a guarantee the others had had to field at least one extra battle while down a Lion just to let him sleep in. Someone had even moved him back to the couch without waking him.

Keith’s take was, “Blame it on me. You were in no shape to fly.”

It didn’t help when he called the castleship, and Coran answered with, “I’ll have to wake Allura up. They just got back two vargas ago.” He peered behind Lance. “Keith? You’re looking well, I must say. Good to see you, lad.”

“...Go wake Allura,” said Lance, reluctantly. “We’ve got to get back.”

Coran shook his head, and closed the connection. Keith said, “Tell me what you haven’t told me, yet.”

“You’ll see for yourself,” said Lance. “We’re a mess. It’s only been a few days and I’m that sure it’s gotten worse. If I’d been thinking straight I’d have brought every energy drink and alertness pill I could get my hands on.”

“You were tired too,” said Keith quietly. “At least now _one_ Lion will actually be combat ready.”

The wormhole opened in the distance. Allura was, apparently, awake. Lance took Red through.


	14. Zombie Ship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have to take you ~ Love, 101 ~ To put things right

The castleship was quiet as they disembarked. Of course, it usually was, it was a huge ship with not a lot of people on it, but Keith’s senses were all but screaming _much too quiet_.

“You go on,” said Lance. “Get settled. I gotta get this stuff out of the cockpit before there’s an alert.” He passed Mrs. Holt’s book over. “Get that to Pidge when you see her.”

Keith nodded, took the book and his mesh bag, and headed into the castle.

Coran all but tackled him. “It’s so good to see you!” he enthused, but sounded relieved as much as anything else. “And you’re okay. That’s good. I know everybody missed you.”

 _This_ , Keith did not know what to do with. So he said, “Uh. Lance could probably use your help. He brought a lot of stuff.”

“Oh?” asked Coran, surprised, which told Keith that their side trip to Earth was really _not_ general news. He knew Shiro wasn’t expecting him. Who _was_? Just Pidge? Allura?

“Yeah,” Keith nodded. “He needs to get it cleared before the next alert?”

“I’d better help.” Coran bustled right off, and Keith was left to chew on how _well_ that had worked. How often were they being sent out?

Allura, he ran into on the way to his old quarters. She didn’t just look tired; he’d seen her that exhausted after more-or-less singlehandedly reviving a near-dead Balmera. _That_ tired. But she smiled to see him, and hugged him tightly. “I’m so glad you made it,” she said. There was a tremble there, like the shadow of...tears? “Please don’t ever do such a thing ever again.”

Do…? It took Keith a few moments to realize she was talking about the fight at Naxzela. It seemed ages ago, to him. Clearly not to her, though. He only had one hand free, but tried awkwardly to hug her back. “It’s okay,” he ventured.

“No, no it’s not,” she insisted. “For you to think such a thing was a _solution_ -”

“You’re tired,” said Keith, thinking it was probably a contender for understatement of the decaphoeb. “You should sleep.”

Allura actually sniffled. There were tears there, although Keith was fairly sure exhaustion was playing a part. “You’d _better_ still be here when I wake,” she said.

“I promise,” said Keith, thinking that was probably a pretty safe bet. “Go rest.”

She let him go with reluctance, almost weaving on her feet back to her quarters. Keith watched her go, frowning. If Allura was that tired, how badly off were the others?

He was still thinking about that when he opened the door to his quarters. So it took a few seconds to register what he was seeing, and then only the fact that he _knew_ everyone nearby was exhausted and needed their sleep kept him from shouting _what the hell did you do to my room?_

It was _chaos_. It wasn’t as if he’d ever owned much, but the entire room had been searched like there were diamonds hiding in every seam.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. _He_ was fairly awake. He’d have to adjust to whatever the current schedule was. He might as well settle in by cleaning up this mess. He set the bag from Earth down, and got to work.

~*~

Coran was the first guest, tapping on Keith’s door with a very light rap in case he was sleeping. Keith opened the door, running an arm across his forehead to clear the sweat. The room had taken more work than he’d thought at first glance, but it was mostly in order.

The elder Altean stepped inside, nodded approvingly at the reordered room. “You couldn’t have come at a better time,” he said. “They really need you.”

Keith blinked. “To do what?” he asked. “There’s no Lion for me, and I can’t fly this ship. I can’t help them with whatever Zarkon’s doing. Or Lotor.” Was Coran part of this ‘is Shiro not Shiro’ issue too?

Coran made a peculiar noise that managed to mingle amusement, frustration, and a kind of ‘bless your heart’ sentiment in one go, which Keith had to concede was impressive for something lacking language. “You really are a selfish fellow, sometimes, aren’t you?” he asked gently.

Keith froze. That was _not_ what he’d expected. He also hadn’t expected the words to cut that deeply. And Coran had said them as lightly as he said anything else, like marveling at a butterfly’s particular shade of yellow. There was a complete lack of judgment.

Coran sighed and put a hand on Keith’s now-stiffened shoulder. “Did you _really_ think that your friends could hear how close you came to dying – and for nothing, I might add – and not be affected?” he asked.

Okay. That was _it_. It had been months ago. It had nothing to do with anything happening _now_. Keith swatted Coran’s hand away. “How about how close _they_ came to dying?” he snapped. “If you were in range, Coran, if this castleship had been in range for you to throw _everything_ at that shield, in time to _maybe save them_ , wouldn’t you have done it? Wouldn’t you have rammed _this_ ship at those shields if there was any chance you could save them?”

“Every weapon it has,” Coran agreed. “But not the ship itself. Not unless I knew it would work and that there was no other way.” He reached out again, and he was very gentle about it. “Lad, I would happily give my life to save the princess. But I’m not so blind as to think she wouldn’t grieve if I did. It’s got to be _worth it_ , don’t you see? If I could save the universe by dueling Zarkon personally, she’d still grieve for me.”

“But you’d do it,” said Keith. “To save the universe, and her, you’d do it. Why should I be different?”

“Well yes, yes I would,” Coran agreed. “In a heartbeat, really. But I wouldn’t pretend she’d be happy about it, or that she’d forget it quickly. Which is what you’re doing. You were going to die, Keith. And it wasn’t going to do _anything_. Not for them. Just for you. You started your dive and the _best_ case scenario would be they’d only have seconds to grieve before they died too. Not even leaving them the hope that at least _you’d_ make it? Don’t tell me that wasn’t a bit selfish.” And again, despite the cutting words, the tone was gentle. Like...he understood that Keith couldn’t help it, or something. It made it worse than anger or judgment would have been.

“Then why now?” asked Keith. Coran being perceptive was a lot more painful than he would have anticipated. “What use am I to them now?”

Coran was almost never angry. The Altean seemed to actively avoid the emotion, pouring it into outrageousness instead. But it was just the two of them here, and maybe Coran knew that outrageousness wouldn’t get the point across. “Lad,” he said quietly, gently...even with love, “you can let them be glad _someone they love_ is still alive and well. That _they_ didn’t fail _you_. You know what I heard for ages after Naxzela? I heard them asking if they should call you. If Kolivan would tell them where you were. If it would put you in danger to try reaching you. I heard them talking about whether _you_ ’d call _here_. Whether you _not_ calling here meant you were hurt, or angry with them. Whether you were ever coming back. What they could offer you to get you to stay, because they missed you. You’ll give them a huge boost just being somewhere they can see you, hug you, know you’re all right and alive. And they need that right now. Honestly, I think you do, too.”

Keith sat down on the edge of his bed, studying his hands. It was better than meeting Coran’s eyes. He didn’t know what to do with this. All the months learning, and nothing useful to say. He couldn’t argue. He didn’t _believe_ it, not really, but he couldn’t argue. Coran’s assessment fit how _everyone_ had been reacting to him so far.

An alert sounded outside the room. Coran sighed. “Zarkon again. They’ll be out inside fifteen doboshes. You should probably stay here. They’re not in a good place for surprises just now.” He patted Keith’s shoulder, and made his way out. The door closed behind him.

Keith fell back onto the bed, hands behind his head. The Marmora armor was stored away – no need for that on the castleship. None of this, not one bit of it, applied to how galra behaved. At least, not any galra he’d ever met, or heard of. Sometimes he wondered if even his mother had been different. If she’d _wanted_ to leave, or if it had mattered to her that she’d left family behind. He was self-aware enough to know that such speculation had splashed over more of his life than it should have.

It didn’t really matter. He’d understood within moments of setting foot on the castleship that _this_ was home. Not anywhere on Earth, not the Marmora base. _This_ ship, _this_ little room, _these_ people. This was home. He’d die for them, and he’d die if he lost them, and for all he’d thought he’d been trying to help, he’d only really succeeded in hurting them.

A few months ago, such thoughts would have had him heading for the hangar, to take a pod to _anywhere_. Now, he knew Coran was right. Running wouldn’t help. Running would make things worse than staying ever could.

He had to put this right. Even if there wasn’t a place for him here anymore, even if he couldn’t stay.

And he had...a sack. Well, the rest of the room was clean. Might as well tackle that.

Keith did not own a lot of clothes. The dresser was mostly empty drawers. He got up, grabbed the sack, emptied out the contents.

The book from Mrs. Holt, and the little devices. That was for Pidge. Drawer one.

Photographs, still in their frames. People, places. Keith didn’t know most of them, but he knew they mattered to Shiro. They’d always had the nicest frames, and been placed where he would see them every day. He wondered if a clone would remember them. He _did_ want to study _that_ idea for himself. So, for now, the photographs got dusted and tucked in a second drawer. The beads he’d taken went in the drawer for Pidge – for now.

He wondered if he could talk Lance into sharing some of that food stuff with Hunk. Probably. You needed a harder heart than Lance’s to deny Hunk something that smelled _that_ good.

There wasn’t anything for Allura. It had honestly never occurred to him to look, and she had to be curious about Earth. All that was left in the sack were the clothes Shiro had arrived on Earth with (those got folded small, tucked in the drawer for Pidge) and his music collection. Given that a lot of it was music he’d picked up while on the rather steep downward spiral Shiro had found him in, he kind of didn’t think she’d enjoy it. He set the drive aside; Pidge would know if there was a way to patch it into the castleship systems, but it could wait. The sack itself got tucked in where the music would go later.

They’d had time to go...wherever it was they’d been called. Keith wouldn’t startle anyone by going out, now.

Time to go out and see what Zarkon was doing to his family, and what could be done about it.


	15. Damage Assessment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prodigal ~ Reunion ~ The Sleep of the Just ~ The Greatest of All Treasures

Lance expected to get yelled at for being days late returning, but when the alert sounded all he got was a relieved, “You made it back, _good_ ,” from Shiro, quickly echoed by Pidge and Hunk as they ran by. “Get to your lion.”

The next several hours made him _really_ glad Keith had insisted he sleep first. No one said anything that wasn’t related to the job at hand; scores and scores of fighters and a few cruisers trying to turn a planet into cinder. Now that he was rather more _awake_ he could see the holes in his teammates’ tactics – how just being _exhausted_ was making this more work than it had to be. They were still getting the job done, but there was a kind of snowball effect in play; being tired meant they had to work harder for the same results, which in turn made everyone more tired. By the time the fleet retreated, Lance was as wiped as everyone else.

He blamed that for the fact he’d quite forgotten to generally mention that he’d brought Keith back. Pidge and Hunk had to know already, since they’d _sent_ him to do that, and Allura because she’d opened the wormhole that brought them back, but still. It hadn’t come up. And everyone was so focused on just getting ‘the next thing’ done, that no one thought about it until the lions were all set in their bays and there he was, in his old jacket and gloves, just sort of leaning against the wall in the central pod bay.

The attempt at nonchalance lasted as long as the attempt at verticality; Keith got _mobbed_.

~*~

They took over one of the conversation areas that had a lot of couches; being happy at the family reunion didn’t cure anyone’s overall exhaustion. Keith wound up being weirdly grateful that Coran had been so very direct; it meant he had answers, and apologies made of words that worked, because Naxzela had _absolutely_ left a mark. It meant he knew they weren’t accusing him so much as making sure he was okay _now_ , that he wasn’t mad at _them._

That didn’t make it easy. But months of rebuilding destroyed cities and digging mass graves had put a lot of things into a certain perspective. And months of every being looking at him and seeing only the race that had caused that pain made _these_ people...kind of precious, in a way he hadn’t seen before. They didn’t see galra or human so much as they just saw _Keith_. And maybe he still didn’t have much idea who that was, but it was pretty clear this group didn’t much care. He’d had to beg Hunk to let him go before he ran out of air.

And Shiro….oh, _Shiro_. The man was running on fumes in a way Keith had rarely seen, and the only reason Keith didn’t make a scene about it was …

...was that he knew the galra were _proud_. The Blades as much as any other. They performed their duty and be damned to the cost, to themselves or anything else. And while Kolivan had tended to treat Keith like ...some promising but still fumbling _cub_ , they respected Shiro. And they wouldn’t if they’d ever seen Shiro so much as _bend_. No matter how tired. And that was what Shiro was doing now; presenting a face, something the others could believe in. It wasn’t _working_ , but it wouldn’t help Shiro to display that in front of everyone. But he kept an eye on Shiro as the sleepy conversations meandered. He wasn’t surprised that Lance brought out the food his grandmother had made. It distracted _everyone_ for a solid hour, samples passed around like ambrosia (and proving that the Alteans really _were_ vegetarian, as Allura’s nose wrinkled and Coran kept his distance) as Hunk swore he would _find_ a way to replicate the flavor somehow. Grandma McClain was declared a minor culinary goddess, which Lance appeared to regard as only her rightful due. The garlic knots, he refused to share more than nibbles of, but Allura and Coran did appreciate the samples.

After a while, Keith found himself the cornerstone of a sort of relaxed puppy pile. Allura was dozing leaning on his shoulder, Pidge had claimed his legs for pillows, with Shiro leaning against his other side. There was absolutely no way to move without waking someone up. It wasn’t comfortable, but Lance and Hunk appeared to be of the view that Keith really had better not budge. Hunk honestly seemed to think the whole thing was _awesome_ ; Lance just seemed to find it really, really funny. “For someone who hates getting close to people, you’re doing pretty well,” he said. When he sat down with a packet of water, Hunk stretched out on the couch beside him to use him for a pillow.

Keith was rather keenly aware that while he was surrounded by sleeping people, they weren’t sleeping that deeply. “How long has this been going on?” he asked quietly.

Lance lowered an arm to pat Hunk’s back like he was a dozing St. Bernard. “Quite a while,” he admitted. “If you hadn’t insisted on a nap, I’d be as out as they are. Today was rough.”

“How long until the next?” asked Keith curiously. It couldn’t be that long, not if everyone was grabbing the first nap they could.

“Few hours, tops,” sighed Lance. “Doubt anyone’s had a full night’s sleep in weeks. Easily. Honestly should be catching up myself, while I can.”

“Go ahead,” Keith invited. “I’m fine with quiet. And Coran’s probably around somewhere.” He didn’t need to say he’d have cut off his arm rather than wake Shiro when the man looked this beat.

A few hours. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was kind of a good discomfort. Like seeing baby chickens dozing on a cat. As Lance leaned over Hunk, closing his eyes for a doze, Keith occupied his mind studying the people who’d chosen to nap on him. Allura slept the sleep of one wearied by endeavor but not beaten by it. She might be tired if the alarm sounded soon, but probably functional. Pidge, curled across his lap, had one arm around his waist as if even in sleep she had some worry he might disappear before she woke. That hurt a bit – not least knowing that she had reason to feel that way.

But Shiro...Shiro had steadily dropped down into the deep sleep of someone who was safe now. No gesture, conscious or unconscious; he was just leaned against Keith’s arm, head tucked down against the shoulder. If it were anyone else, Keith would assume him so deeply asleep that he could be _carried_ and not wake up. He knew better than to think that of Shiro.

Shiro slept so well because that human-prey-hindbrain was telling him someone else was here, someone was _on watch_. If that changed, Keith rather thought Shiro would quickly be wide awake.

He counted ticks and breaths. Tick, dobosh, varga. ( _Leave a part of your mind free to count the ticks._ ) Blade trick, stay still between sentry passes. Fifteen doboshes after Lance had joined the rest of the paladins in sleep, Keith opened his eyes at Coran’s approaching footsteps. The elder Altean was almost comical as he froze in his tracks, realizing Keith was the only one awake in the room. He moved to retrace his steps back, but Keith said, “Hang on.”

Coran raised a finger to his lips, pointing to the other paladins. “They’re fine,” said Keith quietly. “For a while longer. I need your help.”

That got Coran’s attention. “I don’t think you should move,” he started.

“I won’t,” Keith agreed. “But do me a favor. Call up a map of the last...oh, dozen alerts?”

Coran nodded, calling up a star map over the central table. One by one stars turned red; the received alerts. Keith studied them, going over in his mind the worlds. Olia’s ship had trailed most of these sites, after Zarkon had been driven off and Voltron had gone. They’d helped bury the dead, clear the rubble, rebuild for survivors. But that wasn’t what occupied his thoughts now.

Zarkon didn’t keep more forces in an area than were required to maintain control, usually. When rebellion rose, he’d pull forces in from surrounding sectors, replenish from shipyards and factories in the area. And while Zarkon didn’t care about losses at all – he tended to the view that only the weak would go around _dying_ – he would still have to replenish his forces or risk losing even more territory while trying to take back what had already been liberated from his grasp.

He was throwing cruisers full of fighters at Voltron. Wearing them down, yes. But not without loss. Even Zarkon couldn’t pull cruisers out of the ether.

He was running over nearby Galra worlds in his mind – before Senfama he’d been pretty busy all over the empire – when an alert sounded. Another world on Coran’s map began flashing red. And all around him, the paladins jerked awake. Shook off sleep, got up. Quick variations on _gotta go_ were said as they grabbed their helmets, ran fingers through their hair, jogged for their Lions.

Keith checked the chronometer. Maybe an hour or two of rest. That narrowed things down considerably.

Coran was watching where the paladins had gone, worried. “They’re in no shape...did they get any sleep at all?”

“A varga or two,” said Keith.

Never use a subtle trick when an open claw will work. They’d been right – they’d _all_ been right. And if they’d been allowed a full night’s sleep they’d have worked it out much sooner. But the window had been small, and now they needed a little help to get out of it.

He got up, shaking life back into his limbs. It would be disrespectful to call Kolivan without the armor. And since he was going to ask a favor, that wouldn’t be a good idea.

~*~

“ _Keith_ ,” said Kolivan’s image. He seemed to study his apprentice, though Keith wasn’t sure what he thought he was looking for. _”You cannot have been in place long.”_

“The situation is not subtle, Kolivan,” said Keith. Straight posture, don’t look away. “Has the Black Paladin kept you apprised of recent attacks?”

“ _He has not called on me in phoebs,”_ said Kolivan. “ _I have shared information as it seemed fitting.”_

Given how haggard Shiro had looked, Keith was fairly sure Shiro hadn’t called to talk because he’d been fighting or attempting to sleep. It was easy to lose track of time in that state. “Allow me to catch you up,” he said, tapping keys to transmit the data for attacks. “I believe he has been forcibly distracted in order to weaken the alliance.” Or, possibly, he was a copy of the real Shiro and had deliberately kept allies in the dark in order to weaken Voltron specifically. It depended on how much weight you wanted to give Pidge’s theories.

“ _Some of this is not news,”_ said Kolivan dourly. Keith was pretty sure he knew which parts; the parts where he’d been with Olia’s crew. His phrasing meant ‘but some of it is’, and that was what he wasn’t happy about.

Everything, _everything_ had been funneled ultimately through Shiro. The rebel ship movements, Voltron’s movements. Kolivan had always spoken _only_ to Shiro.

Break one link and it’s not a chain anymore.

What Keith was doing was, technically, mutiny. Part of him, and not a small part, cringed in anticipation of Shiro being angry – or worse, disappointed. Again. Being back on the castleship made it very easy to remember facing a room of angry glares, of having every attempt to make a decision shut down, and he didn’t want to ever have that again. But the paladins needed _help_. They were too tired, now, to address this at the source. By the time they were rested at least one other attack would occur to pull them away. That was the whole point – keep Voltron pinned and exhausted and just wear them out.

Keith took a deep breath. “There must be factories in range of the latest two attacks to build the fighters and sentries.”

Kolivan nodded. “ _Of course.”_ His arm moved, and a few worlds lit up in green. They were, indeed, well within range of the most recent attacks. “ _Factory, shipyard. Construction sites all along this route,”_ and now a green line drew itself across the star-map, “ _have been receiving extra supply ships for phoebs.”_

“We’ve got to take them out,” said Keith. “If the paladins can’t rest, Voltron becomes too weak to stand and we lose everything.”

“ _There are too few Blades to do this,”_ Kolivan warned.

Don’t shout. Don’t fume. He _really, really_ wanted to. Shiro was so tired. They were all so _exhausted_. “Elcris is in position,” he said, tone carefully level. “The rebel ships can help with sabotage. Want me to make the call or would you rather set it up yourself?” He tapped the shipyard nearest the most recent two attacks. “Start here. If they can get just _one_ quintant of sleep it will help a lot. Take out enough to give Voltron time to come to your aid and it will. But we’ve _got_ to take those shipyards out.”


	16. Moments of Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knocking on Doors ~ At Last, An Answer

It was frighteningly easy to get back into castle clothes before the others returned. He might not have bothered, but Keith was still trying to figure out when it was better to be galra and when it wasn’t. Even the question felt kind of odd, here. Did they see him as himself, or as a human, or as galra? How would he even _know_?

When they got back, though, Keith realized – not without a bit of self-deprecation – that they mostly saw him as ‘obstacle between themselves and their beds’. They barely spoke even to each other, never mind anyone else, heading each for their individual quarters.

“It’s been this way for a while now,” Coran noted, following Keith. “Kind of like flying a ghost ship, sometimes.”

Clearly. And a fair part of Keith wanted to just let them _sleep_. But ...but.

He really did not want to face a room full of angry glares again. Ever. So two of them were going to get woken. “If Kolivan calls, or ...anyone else actually, come get me,” he said, and headed for Lance’s door.

Coran nodded, not entirely without reservation, and headed back to the bridge.

Keith was _never_ going to get used to Lance’s beauty regime. And didn’t really want to know where Lance had found the cucumber slices, either. “Er.”

“...There isn’t an alert and I’m _really_ tired,” said Lance. “Can’t this wait?”

“Not _really,_ no,” said Keith, trying not to notice the facial.

“Come on then,” said Lance, stepping aside to let Keith in.

Once the door had closed behind them, Keith looked down to avoid the facial and saw the lion slippers. There was just not going to be any winning in this particular conflict. _Focus on the job at hand._ “Look,” he said quickly. “I’m telling you because you’re the second in command here. I’ve talked to Kolivan. And I’ll be handling communications for a while.”

Even so exhausted he was literally wobbling on his feet, Lance saw the problem in that idea. “... _You_. Handling _communications_. Aren’t we stretched thin enough?”

“I mean it,” said Keith almost desperately. “Look, I’m going to try and keep it from exploding, all right, but Shiro’s completely dropped the ball.” And oh god he’d said that out loud. He’d said that _out loud_.

Lance noticed it too, though it took a few seconds. He sat down, heavily, on the edge of his bed. “Spit it out,” he said tiredly. “I guess I need to know.”

“Everyone’s calling in still,” said Keith. “But nothing’s been going out. _Everything_ was funneled through Shiro. Matt’s reports, Kolivan’s, everyone. This was supposed to be the hub. I’m sure it’s just that Shiro’s as tired as everyone else, and either no one gave Coran the authority or no one told anyone they could leave word with him, but you guys have been on your own for weeks. Maybe longer.”

Lance blinked slowly. The man clearly just wanted to keel over sideways until the next alert, but he gave it his best shot. “That...explains a lot?”

“So I’ve told Coran to come get me if anyone calls,” said Keith. “I know it’s not ideal, but I can at least keep everyone in the loop. And get you guys some help. I’m working on it. Okay?”

 _Help_ got through. Keith wasn’t sure anything else had, but _get you guys help_ got through. “Sounds peachy,” said Lance. “Z’t okay if I sleep now?”

Keith sighed. “Yeah,” he said. “Go to sleep.”

Lance had keeled over into a doze before Keith got out the door.

Technical permission achieved. Keith wasn’t at all sure it would hold up when everyone _had_ gotten sleep, and thus had the brainpower to look over his decisions, but it would have to do.

Given Lance’s wobbly state, he had to give some thought as to whether it was worth it to wake Pidge. On the one hand, _yes_. If she was right, and Shiro wasn’t really Shiro and would turn on them, then the time was _rapidly_ approaching when that would logically happen. Shiro was exhausted, which impacted the ability to resist control, and the paladins were exhausted, which would absolutely impact their ability to do anything about it. And with the Blades and the rebel ships about to take out Zarkon’s army-manufacturing facilities, it was pretty likely Zarkon would use Shiro turning rogue as a way to take back control of the situation.

And if Shiro was truly Shiro – and really Keith had no honest evidence otherwise – then faith in him needed to be restored. And he needed _help_.

But he wasn’t sure Pidge was anywhere near awake enough to do what needed doing. It was just...there also wasn’t a lot of choice. She’d voiced the theory, she’d done a lot to set up the means to test it. Hopefully, she still had the focus to see it through.

Keith went back to his room, got the clothes Shiro had landed on Earth in, the little devices, and the string of beads, and knocked on Pidge’s door.

She didn’t answer right away, and when she did, Keith was _really_ surprised that it was very clear she was a ‘she’. The nightgown wasn’t particularly girly, but it had some basic ruffles to it. There was an abrupt sense of intrusion.

Pidge dealt with Keith’s attack of hesitation by grabbing him by the arm and yanking him inside. Tired Pidge was, apparently, also a cranky Pidge who had no time for stupid. As the door closed, her eyes narrowed at the things in Keith’s arms. “...I said _before_ Kerberos,” she said.

Keith set the clothes down. “I know,” he said. “But I figured you’d want them in case this theory of yours went sideways. It’s not like we could go _back_ to Earth with things as they are.” He held out the beads. “This is what you sent me for. I know he handled this a lot, every bead.”

Pidge took it carefully. It wasn’t really a _string_ , being bound into a loop, but it wasn’t a necklace either. The beads were dark red rosewood, somewhat too large for a necklace, polished with time and much handling. In the middle of the loop was a tiger’s eye bead, larger than the others, with a flat side that had a holographic laser etching of some sort of Asian building. “Is this a _mala_? I didn’t know he was Buddhist.”

“I’m not actually sure,” Keith admitted. “But he’s always been into meditation and that’s what they’re for. The only reason it didn’t go with him to Kerberos is it’s really old. Said he didn’t want to scatter the beads all over Pluto’s orbit if the string broke.” He paused. “Uh. Please don’t break it. If you’re wrong, he’s probably going to need it.”

“Maybe if I’m right, too,” Pidge agreed absently. Tired she was, but apparently if her mind had something to fix on she could stay awake. She set the mala down carefully and got her wrist computer. “What about the other stuff?”

Keith set the two little devices down. “Found a general’s computer, and an inventory database. I let them both run as long as I could.”

“I’ll look at the results as soon as I can,” said Pidge, putting on one of her gauntlets so she could access the wrist console. “It’ll be good to know how much the Garrison actually knows of what’s going on.”

“Whatever they do know they’re in complete denial about,” said Keith, and realized he’d forgotten the final thing. “Uh. Be right back.”

Pidge had started scanning the mala. “Sure.” So, she could focus, but not multitask.

Keith headed back to his room, and got the book. When he’d returned, Pidge was peering at the results on her wrist console with a frown. He watched her point the scanner at the clothes and run it again.

Clearly this was _not_ the time to derail her. He set the book down on her desk. “...So?”

“I think you wanna sit down,” said Pidge slowly.

No. _No_. “Just tell me,” he gritted. She was so... _small_ , especially in the soft little nightgown. Small and tired and sad and you did not _did not_ pick on people who were not your own size even if they were being _really, really_ frustrating.

“The guy sleeping across the hall is not our Shiro,” said Pidge all at once. “I’m...uh. I’m not actually _sure_ about some of these readings. But that much is definite. You’re sure about the mala?”

“Yeah,” said Keith firmly. It had been a kind of daily ritual. He’d tried to get Keith to do it too, part of that centering and focusing thing, but sitting still to recite nonsense _over a hundred times_ was not Keith’s idea of a good way to spend...well, any time at all, really, but especially time better spent actually _doing_ something. Shiro would sit on a mat on the floor, hold the circle of beads in both hands, and slowly count along each one. Hours, sometimes. “What’s the rest?”

Pidge gave him an irritated look. “You do realize I’m doing detailed genetic analysis _in my nightgown_ while having a sum of maybe two vargas of sleep in the last five quintants?” she said. “Sit _down_ , Keith. I have to think. I’m sorry if it’s not as fast as you’d like but I’ve been _kind of busy_.”

Keith decided now was a good time to humor her. He sat down. Tried not to twitch, while Pidge ran her scanner over the things she had – the clothes, the mala, and it looked like one of Shiro’s more recent shirts. Keith absently wondered how tired Shiro had been not to notice _that_ going missing.

A lot of very tired people were failing to notice a _lot_ of things lately.

“That’s it,” growled Pidge. “Out. _Out_ , Keith. I promise I’ll give you an answer when I’m pretty sure of my results but right now your twitching is driving me crazy. _Out_.”

Keith took the hint, and fled.


	17. Silent Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talking With The Inanimate ~ Holding Hands ~ Galra Giving Orders ~ Stars ~ Results

The castleship was not the best place, when everyone was sleeping. Coran stayed at the helm, keeping the ship somewhat near the more recent attacks so that the Lions would hopefully not need to fly any significant distance. He didn’t need any help for that, and Keith couldn’t do anything on an Altean ship anyway.

He found himself making his way down to the Lion bays. Red’s, first. He could always feel the Lions when they were anywhere near, and it was ...kind of comforting, really. They didn’t speak without having something to say, and they didn’t use anything as clumsy as words when they did.

Keith stopped well before Red would have to choose to activate its particle barrier. He wasn’t here to fly it, or take Lance’s place, or interfere with that bond. When this mess was solved, Keith still had work to do, somewhere to go, and Lance had only this. That hadn’t changed.

What _had_ was the sense that if he approached, Red would let him in. He wasn’t sure the feeling was correct – if it was just something he _wanted_ as opposed to something really true – but Lance wasn’t really Shiro’s second. Lance flew the Red Lion because Lance’s duty was to the whole team, to step up where Shiro was failing to. There was more than one way to be a second in command, and Keith had a feeling Red honored both, the same way Black had honored two very different kinds of leader in Shiro and Zarkon.

He didn’t like thinking about his own time flying Black. In his own eyes he was never more than a temporary and ill-equipped substitute.

“You know, don’t you,” he said to the giant metal beast. “You know what’s going on.”

Red did not visibly respond; Keith honestly hadn’t expected it to. But neither was he particularly surprised to sense that it was watching him.

What to say? Did it matter? The bond with the Lions went beyond simple speech. _The quintessence of the pilot is mirrored in his Lion_. A soulbond, really. But souls were complex things, when you got down to it, with multiple facets.

Red never, ever, gave handouts. You had its respect, or you didn’t, and Keith was pretty sure that that respect could be lost. He hadn’t done a very good job of having Shiro’s back of late, that much was certain. And apparently, hadn’t even realized that the Shiro he’d brought back wasn’t the real one. But while Black hadn’t taken this one on immediately, it _had_ accepted this Shiro as its pilot. That had to count for _something_ , didn’t it?

Had it only done so because Keith had all but _forced_ it to?

He was thinking himself into a corner again. Irritated, he ran his hand through his hair. “I just...wanted to tell you I came back to help,” he said. “If you know something I should know...” he shrugged. “Door’s open?”

The sense of being watched faded. For whatever reason, Red apparently considered the one-sided conversation to be at an end. Keith took the hint. Besides, the last thing he needed was a sleep-deprived Lance coming down here and having a bout of insecurity, or jealousy, or whatever.

Keith slipped out of the hangar. There was one more door to knock on.

~*~

Shiro was not asleep. Exhausted, yes. But not asleep; when Keith knocked, Shiro was still in the underclothes that went with the armor, and the light sheen of sweat suggested recent exercise. Though he’d given Keith a hug earlier, when everyone had been there, now he hung a towel around his neck and asked, curious, “Something wrong?”

It would be easy, to be hurt by that. But Pidge had been clear on this much at least. “Just wanted to check on you,” he said. “You looked really tired.” His tone turned dry. “And yet, not sleeping.”

“So you wanted to wake me up, is that it?” Shiro replied. There was a _little_ of the dry humor there too, but not as much. Like he was deciding whether to be annoyed. “Sorry to disappoint.” He stepped back. “Come on in then.”

Keith stepped in, not surprised that this Shiro had a fairly bare set of quarters. That was ...well, standard. Everything that mattered was outside this room, not in it. Shiro sat down on the edge of the bed, and said, “I doubt this is a social call.”

Keith sat on the bed too, but a safe distance away, with his back to the wall. It was really just that the room didn’t have much furniture. “It’s not,” he agreed. “How have you been?”

“Looking to save me again?” asked Shiro with tired amusement. “I won’t deny we’re kind of getting hammered here.”

“You’re having the nightmares again,” Keith guessed.

He honestly wasn’t expecting a _surprised_ look at that. Keith had been covering for Shiro’s flashback episodes from day one. They talked, when the others weren’t around. It wasn’t _news_. Yet for a moment it clearly was. And then Shiro’s brow furrowed, and then he winced. “That and these damn headaches.”

“I’ve got nowhere to be,” Keith offered. “Lie down.”

Shiro _almost_ protested. But apparently the headache was a bad one; with a semi-frustrated sigh, he did as bidden. Keith got up, and turned the room’s lights off. Then he sat on the floor by Shiro’s bed, and offered his hand. After a moment, Shiro’s human hand reached out to clasp it.

They’d done it for years. Starting when it was Keith who had the nightmares, who woke up in the middle of the night reaching for something, _anything_ to reassure him that he wasn’t alone and it had been Shiro’s steady grip that let sleep return. That was what made it okay now, for Shiro to do the same. It didn’t surprise Keith at all that in bare minutes Shiro’s breathing slowed into sleep. It didn’t surprise him, either, that every so often Shiro’s hand twitched. Just enough for the dreaming mind to confirm that a living hand was still there to hold. He’d been the same, when it was Shiro helping him.

He might not be ‘the’ Shiro. For all Keith knew, this man had been cooked up in a Galra vat for Haggar to use as a wall decoration. But he was not their enemy. That much, Keith _knew_.

~*~

“Now galra giving orders,” sighed Olia. “Dunno about you, but I joined the rebellion to get _away_ from that.”

Matt just grinned. “Think of it as a suggestion, then,” he said. “Or a favor. We’re only asked to be a distraction, anyway.”

“Yeah but they _shoot_ at distractions,” Olia grumped.

“If it makes you feel better I think I’ve found a way to at least temporarily mess with Galra targeting systems,” said Matt. “They’ll shoot at us, but they won’t hit us.”

Elcris, who seemed to be trying to fold herself such that people wouldn’t get stuck against the corridor walls trying to get around her, took an interest. “Is it a difficult process?”

Matt was just glad that Olia’s ears only twitched back now, instead of plastering themselves to her skull whenever Elcris stopped pretending to be a purple statue. “Um...define ‘difficult’,” he said. “It’ll take maybe a varga? And may not last long. I haven’t really tested how long it takes Galra targeting systems to adapt.”

Elcris blinked. “Up to ten doboshes,” she said, quite certain. “Depending on the method used.”

 _Now_ she had _everyone’s_ – somewhat surprised – attention. “Really,” said Matt. “What takes longest to recover from?”

“Direct physical damage,” said Elcris solemnly. “Which will not help you in this case. But using a tripartate frequency changer in the lower VHF range should jam targeting systems for several doboshes, provided the fighter is in range.”

Matt’s eyes almost sparkled. At last, someone willing to discuss technical details. “ _Really_ ,” he repeated. “You know...that wouldn’t be hard to rig, either. Let’s go see if we can fish up some parts. Equip all the ships with it, and this could be a fun distraction.”

Olia watched them go and shrugged at her engineer. If it meant nobody died…

~*~

In the quiet dark, holding not-Shiro’s hand, Keith dreamed.

He floated in a sea of stars. Having been stuck floating in space more than once, it was odd not to be terrified – nothing to push off of, and nothing to push toward, it should have felt like a death sentence. Or, at the very least, horribly boring – though, possibly not as boring as sitting awake in the dark.

And he was not alone. He couldn’t see anyone around, but he _knew_ he wasn’t alone. He wasn’t wearing any kind of armor or suit, but he wasn’t cold, and he could breathe, so… “Hello?”

That...was a mistake. The quiet dark was suddenly a riot of sound.

_Keith! I wondered when you’d turn up._

_What are you doing here?_

_Who are you?_

_You need to get out of here!_

Everything all at once. Greetings, inquiries, demands, commands. Keith twisted in open space; there was nowhere to run to, and nothing to run from. No matter where he looked it was just the dark, and the distant stars. Open space. The voices of alarm and surprise were loudest, and having no source, couldn’t be shut out no matter how he clapped his hands over his ears.

Heart racing, Keith opened his eyes. Shiro’s room. Still dark. Not-Shiro’s breathing was still the slow, steady breathing of deep sleep. _Guess whatever that was, it wasn’t you_. With some wriggling, he managed to get his wristband down to the thumb on his free hand.

...Huh. Four vargas? From what he’d been told and the little he’d seen, that was a fairly long break between alerts.

Not-Shiro still had a firm grip on his hand. If he went to see whether the longer break was due to the chat he’d had with Kolivan, Matt and Olia, he could wake up. Pidge hadn’t come looking for him, which suggested she hadn’t finished her analysis. Or more likely, she’d keeled over during it. No one had knocked, no footsteps in the hall. Only four vargas, they were all probably very deeply asleep, catching up on lost time. There might actually be _alert people_ on the other side of those doors in the near future. That would be...nice.

He wasn’t sure what to do _right now,_ though. That dream had been on the weird side. He was definitely stiff from sleeping while sitting on the floor and not moving. If he _did_ move, not-Shiro could wake up.

When in doubt, go with the gut.

Keith did his best to stretch without adjusting the position of the hand Shiro was holding. One leg, other leg. Back, stomach, free arm. He’d done surveillance assignments that were worse. He rolled his head, stretching the neck. Well, he _had_ said he had nowhere he needed to be.

That dream had been _really_ odd.

...He’d said ‘door’s open’ to Red, too, hadn’t he. Not the first, nor likely to be the last, time his mouth got him into trouble. He hadn’t known the Lions could do that. Though he wasn’t entirely sure a Lion _had_. It hadn’t been ‘just a dream’, and there were limited options.

Keith settled in and tried to catch it again, but while he did doze – likely as much out of boredom as anything else – the ‘dream’ did not return. Red was a finicky Lion, and its respect could be fickle.

~*~

For the first time in recent memory, Pidge woke up because she was rested. No alerts, no banging on the door. Admittedly, she was faceplanted on her tablet and sitting at her desk in her nightgown, but it was still _several_ steps up from where she’d been lately.

She was awake enough to be more than a little suspicious of that, and studied her tablet. It was a minor miracle there were actual calculations on it, and not random doodles of caffeine molecules.

What _had_ she been working on?

Oh.

Yes.

She studied her work for a while – she _had_ been massively sleep deprived, after all, and nobody was perfect. But the results were sound.

Shiro had definitely not come back from that fight with Zarkon.

He _might_ not even have come back from Kerberos.

That was the thing she wasn’t entirely sure how to interpret. Clones were copies, not twins per se. Their growth was accelerated to an immense degree, and that left signs in the cells, in the DNA itself. The Shiro that was with them now was provably such a copy.

That was almost the easy bit, really. Everyone had kind of suspected, at least, that that was a possibility.

The _other_ results, on the other hand, she wasn’t as sure of. There were no signs of rapid growth, but there _were_ decided signs of tampering. Someone in High Command was playing a really, _really_ long game. Or she was reading this all wrong.

Admittedly, she _could_ be reading it wrong.

But it made knowing what to do next a _lot_ harder.


	18. Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emerging from Hibernation ~ The Paralyzing Sleep

Hunk was the first to emerge, stretching absently as he went looking for whatever might be left of the stuff Lance had brought back from Earth. He might not be able to replicate it _exactly_ , but the flavor could be doable. It’d certainly make the food goo more palatable.

Coran greeted him happily. “You’re awake,” he said. “And you’re the first! I really would have thought it would be Allura. Good thing I didn’t make any bets. Of course, you’ve all been asleep, so there was no one to make a bet with. How are you?”

“Kind of confused, really,” Hunk admitted. “Zarkon doesn’t give us a moment’s peace for months, and then we get to sleep ourselves out? There’s something just not right about that.”

“Ah, there’s a story to that,” Coran nodded sagely. “But not mine to tell. You should probably get functional. I understand there may be a _lot_ of stories to tell, as people wake up.”

“Sure man,” said Hunk, yawning a bit – not so much tired as simply shaking off all the sleep. Food, then shower, then proper clothes. Goo was fine.

By the time all three had been accomplished, Allura was also awake. Given she emerged clean and clothed and ready to deal with the world, she might have woken at about the same time as Hunk. “Good – afternoon, I think it is,” she said brightly. “I had _quite_ forgotten what being fully rested feels like.”

“I know what you mean,” Hunk agreed, plunking down on a couch. “Like...I’m waiting for the alarms to go off. Or some kind of news that somewhere got demolished and we just slept through it or something.”

“Don’t say that,” Allura warned, smile fading. “I really hope we didn’t do that.”

“Worry not, princess,” beamed Coran. “I can assure you. There have been no alerts. I wouldn’t have let you sleep through a crisis!”

Lance emerged third, stretching self-indulgently. “I think it’s Keith’s doing,” he said. “I mean, I was about out on my feet, but I kind of remember him telling me something about doing something.”

“Uh,” said Hunk slowly. “It wasn’t...like...going off to fight a bunch of cruisers by himself or something, was it? I mean, just checking. I don’t think that’d actually _work_.”

Allura just gave Lance her undivided, curious attention as he flopped down onto a couch, trying to remember. “Yeaaah, I don’t think so,” he said. “Besides, I kinda told him off already for that kind of plan. I don’t think he wants to get tasered every day for a month.”

“...Tasered?” asked Allura. “What’s ‘tasered’, exactly?”

“You know when Pidge zapped me with her bayard for calling it cute?” asked Lance. “That’s tasering.”

“Oh.” Allura blinked. “You have a word for repeatedly electrocuting people?”

“It sounds kind of sadistic when you put it like that,” Hunk mused. “But...yeah.” He blinked at Lance. “That _worked_?”

Lance shrugged. “I’m flexible in my tactical approaches. Keith can be kind of boneheaded. It helps to be blunt. I told him if he went and got himself caught, I wouldn’t be leaving him behind. I’d rip apart the prison if I had to, and maybe I’d taser him every day for a month for making me go rescue him, but I’d still go rescue him.”

Allura looked troubled. “...I am going to admit I don’t know which I find more disturbing; that I think you mean it, or that it apparently worked.”

“Same,” said Hunk. Then raised his arm to wave as another teammate joined them. “Hey, Pidge.”

“Oh good, you’re all awake,” said Pidge, skipping pleasantries to hop over the back of the couch to a seat. “We have a problem.”

“Well. _That_ didn’t take long,” said Lance. “Good morning to you, too.”

“It’s afternoon,” said Pidge absently, and handed Allura a tablet. “Can you make sense of this for me please? Specifically Sample #2 there, in comparison with Sample #1.”

Allura, visibly confused, accepted the tablet. The confusion cleared as she studied it. “Oh...I see.” She flicked her fingers over the tablet screen, putting it on the room’s holographic display. “This one,” and she tapped the top reading, “is a genetic code. Overlaying it on the second,” and she did so, “highlights the extra chains. Zoom in on those,” which she then did, “and...that’s information. Data encoded as DNA fragments that aren’t meant to be used by the body. Which is...kind of interesting, actually, as it looks like they were _meant_ to be, but were blocked by this bit here.” She tapped a small segment of DNA near the start of the divergent chain. “Um. It’s a bit like commenting out a section of code. The chains are there, but not replicated, transmitted, or read.”

Pidge seemed to follow the explanation most easily, studying the display. “Can you tell what the code is meant to do, if it’s not dummied out?”

Allura winced. “I’m afraid not. My studies in the area weren’t _that_ advanced. The computer may be able to decipher it if you feed the data in and give it time to work the problem. Where did you get this, Pidge?”

Lance was frowning up at the display. “That’s what you sent Keith for, isn’t it,” he said.

“Yup,” Pidge nodded. “He brought back more than I asked for, though, which ...maybe is a good thing.” She accepted the tablet back from Allura, reverted the display back to the sample screen. “The first sample is what he had to go to Earth for. Something of Shiro’s before he ever went out to Kerberos. The second, with the dummy chains, is what I _didn’t_ ask for; that’s a reading from the clothes Shiro was wearing the night we rescued him.”

“So that’s not the comparison you intended to run,” said Hunk. “Where’s that one?”

Pidge scrolled down a bit, revealing a third sample. She tapped the tablet screen to display comparisons with the other two. “This is where it gets ugly,” she said. As the others stared at the display, they could see what she meant as she highlighted and overlapped the chains.

The third sample, from the Shiro with them, had altered chains all through his sequence, clear signs of tampering. And the dummied-out chain...wasn’t.

“I think we’re in trouble,” said Lance.

Hunk frowned at the display. “Okay. So, I have a question. The third...is it a copy made from the first, or a copy made from the second?” _Is it possible_ our _Shiro is still alive?_

“...I honestly don’t know, Hunk,” Pidge admitted. “Genetics isn’t really my strong suit. And I really wasn’t expecting results this tangled. We’d have to take this to the Olkari. Which I’d really like to do, if we get time to. At the very least we need to know what that chain’s meant to do, because it’s active.” She tapped her tablet, and the display disappeared.

Every head turned as Keith’s voice chipped in from the edge of the hall, “You have to tell him.”

Allura nodded first. “He _cannot_ be allowed near Black until this is resolved.”

Keith was wearing his Marmora armor again; the hall was to the bridge, not the personal quarters. “The Blades and the rebel ships have taken out several Galra factories and shipyards,” he said. “Along the edges of the liberated territory. Matt says hi and that he’s having a lot of fun.”

Pidge grinned. “Good to know he’s okay.”

Lance waved at the armor. “Seriously? Armor?”

“It’s polite,” said Keith. “As far as the Blades are concerned. But you have to tell Shiro ...or however you want to call him.”

“Where _is_ Shiro?” asked Allura curiously. “It’s unlike him to sleep in. I mean, later than everyone else.”

Keith shrugged. “Getting dressed, I’d guess. I was keeping an eye on him, but I needed to catch up with the coalition. They’re going to focus on taking out Zarkon’s fleet manufacturing for a little while, now that they know what was being done with it.”

“Hi Shiro!” said Hunk, just that bit loudly enough that everyone was clear he was also saying _look, Shiro’s here_.

Shiro looked rested. And troubled, although also determined. “You were talking with the Coalition?” he asked Keith. It wasn’t _quite_ an accusation, but the tone did demand an answer.

“You were all dead on your feet,” said Keith. The effort he was making to _not_ apologize, to stand by his decisions, was not hard for the others to see. “They could help, they just needed to know you _needed_ help.”

“On _your_ orders, you put lives at risk?” And that _was_ an accusation. Keith flinched backward.

Allura stood up. “We were _exhausted_ , Shiro,” she said firmly. “None of us were alert enough to make the call. I am glad someone did.”

“I’ve told Kolivan that it isn’t a request for undue risk,” said Keith quickly, latching on to that support. “Zarkon will step up security at those construction sites very soon, and it won’t be a good idea for the coalition to target them after that – the Lions will have to do it. They can buy you some time, but that’s _all_ they can do.”

It seemed to surprise Shiro that Keith wasn’t backing down at all. He didn’t want to be arguing with Shiro, even just someone that looked like Shiro. He didn’t _want_ to be doing this at all, but he was not apologizing for it. Shiro was surprised, and perhaps confused. The confusion increased as Pidge said, “...You should probably come sit down. We’ve got a lot to go over.”

~*~

“I can’t fly the Black Lion,” said Shiro, shaking his head. ‘Shaken’ seemed the mildest way to describe how he took the news. ‘Haunted’ might have been more accurate. “I can’t. You should probably...put me in stasis, or something. I’ll go.”

“Black has trusted you,” said Keith. “You’ve led the team for months.”

“But this trap could be sprung at _any_ time,” Allura interjected. “Stasis is honestly not an unreasonable answer. We could take your stasis pod to Olkarion.”

“I shouldn’t even exist,” said Shiro quietly. “I’m not ...really _me_. Just a weaponized simulation of -”

“ _Hey_ now,” interrupted Hunk. “You may not be who we thought you were, but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to live. We’re _gonna_ help.” He almost glared at the others. _“Right_ , guys?”

“Right,” Lance nodded. “Let’s worry about your future career _after_ we’ve taken care of the tricks and traps. Allura?”

“I’ll take the castleship into orbit around Olkarion,” she agreed. “But we do need to decide where our priorities should be. Zarkon isn’t likely to wait for us.”

“You have to take over,” said Shiro to Keith.

“Because that went so well last time?” Keith replied bitterly.

“Because there isn’t a better choice,” said Shiro. “And I think you’ll do better than you seem to think.”

“On the plus side,” said Lance lightly, “It’d be hard for you to do much _worse_.”

“You’re assuming Black would agree,” Keith pointed out, but backed down when he realized no one was going to change their minds. “Fine. _If_ Black agrees. Only until the Olkari can help you, or we find ...the original Shiro.”

“You think he’s out there?” blinked Hunk. “Wouldn’t that kind of make this whole thing kind of edgy, from a Galra point of view?”

“Not if whoever’s behind it all knows exactly where the real Shiro is,” said Keith, irritated. “I guess I’d better get started.” He turned, almost stalking off to the Lion bays.

Shiro caught up to him. “...I may as well come as far as the medbay,” he said.

Keith exhaled, slowly. “Sorry. This is the last thing I wanted.”

“I...know,” said Shiro, thoughtfully. “It’s weird. I _think_ I should be angry. And then I think no, this is actually a really good thing. And...then my head starts pounding.” He shook his head. “I had a weird dream.”

Keith didn’t pause stride, but he did look over at the man.

“I get nightmares about being lost in space, sometimes,” said Shiro. “Not in that ship you found me in. Just...drifting. But this time you were there.”

Keith thought about the dream he’d had, the cacophony of voices, and nodded.

“It didn’t last long,” Shiro mused. “But for once it wasn’t a nightmare. I’m not looking forward to the stasis pod.”

Keith nodded again. Shiro – the real Shiro – had hated them too. The idea of being trapped, motionless, while a machine did things to his body, even if it was medically helpful, had given him tremors more than once. “I’ll walk with you,” he offered. Even the man’s _nightmares_ really belonged to someone else. You couldn’t not feel pity for a man cursed with someone else’s nightmares.

Entering the medbay, Shiro paused. The pods were really _not_ something he wanted to go into, and there wasn’t anyone else around to try and be brave for. All the questions of identity, of duty, made fear harder to fight. Shiro wasn’t so much frozen as pushed against an invisible wall, trembling and unable to move forward. Keith offered his hand and Shiro took it, gripping tightly. “We haven’t even really spent any time together, have we?” Shiro asked shakily. “Not really. All my memories – they’re someone else’s, aren’t they?”

“Maybe,” said Keith. “But I don’t think it matters very much.” It wouldn’t help to say he’d seen the real Shiro this paralyzed a few times too. Borrowed nightmares still had bite.

“Shouldn’t it?” demanded Shiro. “Shouldn’t it matter? Shouldn’t you be finding the – the _real_ me?”

“I’ll do my best,” Keith agreed. Little by little, closer to the pod. “But I saw you, when I found you in that ship. I saw you take over Black, and that you were right to do it. You’re the one that freed a third of the universe from Zarkon. And I came back and saw you again, worn out trying to keep my friends alive. You deserve to live your own life too. We’ll do what we can.”

“Every time I go into these things I get flashbacks,” said Shiro, voice shaking. “Except – I don’t even know if _that’s_ true, if that’s one of his memories or mine.”

“I think the Lions know what’s going on,” said Keith quietly. “You shouldn’t be dreaming, in a stasis pod. But if you do – if you find yourself in a dream – call for Black. I think it knew from the start who you were...who you weren’t. But it still trusted you.”

Shiro – shaking visibly now, and fighting it – got into the pod. “Take care of them, Keith.”

Keith offered the only reassurance he could. It wasn’t Shiro, but it looked like him, and sounded like him, and seeing him so afraid was wrenching. “I will,” he said, though _I’ll try_ was what he felt. He activated the pod, and waited until the body within stilled. He put his hand on the clear outer casing.

“I’m sorry.”


	19. Black's Chosen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Black Paladin ~ Fear, Frozen

Keith made his way down to Black’s hangar with the air of a man heading to his own execution.

There was no part of him that wanted this. No part that had _ever_ wanted it. And in strict honesty, if Black had had enough of his failures and would no longer accept him, he would be genuinely relieved to go back to the others and say so. Even bring them all down here to witness the rejection for themselves, just so it wouldn’t come up again. They could do the ‘everyone takes a turn’ trial again and see who got the job this time. It wouldn’t make much difference. Keith only felt at home flying Red, but until he knew the real Shiro’s fate he couldn’t commit to any of the Lions. Not really. Even Black.

But he was going alone this time because he had a sick sort of premonition that Black _wasn’t_ going to refuse him. And that meant they needed to have some kind of understanding. Or at least that Keith needed to know some things were Understood, given that all the Lions seemed to have a much better grasp of what was going on than any of the two legged sorts around the place.

The great lion sat regally in its hangar, just as the others did. Keith walked toward it slowly, steadily. Hoping that the particle barrier would activate.

His heart sank a little when it didn’t. The head lowered, and the jaw opened. _That isn’t a yes. Not yet. It may just want to talk._ Hope and denial sometimes spoke the same language. Keith walked up into the cockpit and took a seat. God he did _not_ want to be doing this.

“ _Not even leaving them the hope that at least_ you’d _make it? Don’t tell me that wasn’t a bit selfish.”_

“ _You pigheaded, selfish,_ jerk _.”_

“ _Take care of them, Keith.”_

The mission was all that mattered. The universe _needed_ Voltron. ( _The broken buildings. The burned homes. Digging, and filling, mass_ graves. _The broken shells of worlds drained of life._ ) Voltron _needed_ five Paladins.

Keith made himself set his hands on the controls, and died a little as the console lit up. Black accepted him.

“Just until we get Shiro back,” he said quietly. Warning, or pleading. “Or get his...other one...healed up. Either of them are better at this. You can help me find him, can’t you? We can make sense of this?”

The Black Lion raised its head, and roared.

~*~

The others turned to listen as the roar reverberated through the castleship.

Lance sighed. “I don’t think I’m ever going to understand Black’s taste in pilots,” he said.

“Honestly, it could just be that shaking us all up wouldn’t do any good right now,” said Pidge. “Remember how long it took you and Allura to adjust the last time. Better to have one new pilot than three or four.”

“I guess that means Shiro’s -” Hunk paused. “I should stop calling him that, shouldn’t I.”

“Call him Takashi,” Pidge suggested. “I mean that’s his name. He just never used it.”

“That works,” Lance nodded. “I wish we knew where _our_ Shiro was. Or even if he still is.”

“The Olkari should be able to tell us that,” said Hunk. “If Takashi’s cloned from Shiro’s arm – I mean, the one the Galra took – then probably not. But if Takashi was made from Shiro’s DNA _after_ that, after all their experiments, then that means the Galra have him somewhere, right?”

“More or less?” said Pidge. “At least, that’s the hope. From what I can tell, it seems likely, but,” she shrugged. “It’s more tangled than I expected. And we can’t afford to be wrong.”

Allura, from her command dais, said, “We’re nearing Olkarion. After we drop Sh- Takashi off, what do we do then?”

“We take out as many of Zarkon’s shipyards as we can,” said Keith, from the doorway. For someone gone only minutes, he looked tired. “The longer it takes him to rebuild his fleets, the better. We’ll use that time to find Shiro.” He gave them all a kind of...tired, grumpy look. “Black will let me pilot. I know it’s not ideal for anyone, so let’s plan on making it brief. Aim for getting the _real_ Black Paladin back. And failing that, one who’ll do a better job than I ever could.”

“Amen to that,” said Lance. “We should probably do some training runs. You’ve been out of the pilot’s seat a long time.”

“Agreed,” was all Keith had to say to that. “I’ll...change to paladin armor in a bit. Before we go down to the planet. But I want to ask Kolivan something first and I think you’ll want to be listening.”

The others shared a brief look – it honestly wasn’t something they’d expected, certainly not of Keith, and definitely not without having to explain why first – but there was no disagreement.

The screen flickered to life. “ _Keith,”_ said Kolivan’s image. The name seemed to double as greeting.

“Kolivan,” Keith answered. “I have a question. It is important.”

The old galra almost had an _oh, really_ expression for a moment. But his tone was borderline impatient. _“Then ask.”_

“What was Ulaz’s assignment, at central command? I know he had to return to base after Shiro’s escape. But what was his place before that? What was his work?”

 _Now_ the entire room was riveted. Not happily – there were almost no answers that wouldn’t lead, at the very least, to unpleasant mental images – but Keith was right; they did want to know.

And it was clear Keith had wanted to ask this as a Blade. Kolivan’s expression, noting the other paladins present...was particularly dour, even for him. “ _Ulaz was a cyberneticist under the druids of Haggar,”_ he said quietly. _“His task was to fit Haggar’s chosen experiments with experimental prosthetics. He kept us informed of the directions of her researches. Where he found the opportunity to do so he would also sabotage her attempts to create super-soldiers. Victors in the arena were and are her preferred choice to turn into monsters to send against inhabited worlds.”_

“So...Ulaz is the one that probably took Shiro’s arm,” said Allura quietly.

“To be fair I don’t know that Shiro could’ve escaped _without_ that arm,” Pidge noted. “Especially given he apparently wasn’t supposed to have _that_ much control over it.”

Keith’s attention was still on Kolivan, though. “Did Ulaz ever submit a report as to what was done to Shiro, at Haggar’s request?”

“ _I am afraid not,”_ said Kolivan solemnly. _“He had to depart quickly, leaving records behind. He seemed confident that he had turned Haggar’s weapon against her; no more. On discovery that this resulted in your compatriot’s ascension to Black Paladin, he did state that he was reasonably certain Shiro was free of Haggar’s control and could be trusted.”_

“Thank you,” said Keith. “We’re looking into it further but I thought I’d ask.” He paused, then added, “In the meantime...I am Black Paladin.”

Kolivan bowed. _“Until next time then, Black Paladin.”_ The screen blanked.

“Well. _That_ didn’t take you long,” said Lance.

“Shut it,” said Keith with weary aggravation. “Just...shut it.”

“Descending to Olkarion,” said Allura calmly. “You’d better change.”

Keith strode off to do so, and Hunk asked, “Why didn’t you go volunteer, if this was gonna bother you so much?”

“It doesn’t, really,” said Lance with a grin. “It just bugs me when he’s too calm. You know? It’s not like him.”

Hunk just shook his head. “Better than storming off and leaving us all to fend for ourselves. But ...okay. You may have a point. It’s weird. Next thing you know Pidge’ll be saying Keith’s a clone too.”

“I hope not,” said Allura, somewhat distractedly, as she landed the castleship. “We’re running out of people to fill in the blanks with.”

~*~

No one was particularly surprised that Keith wore the red armor and not the black; Lance had rather left that door open. But he did accept the black bayard before helping to transport Takashi’s stasis pod out to the Olkari.

Ryner came out to meet them, somewhat surprised at the group’s composition. “Paladins,” she said. “Is everything all right? How may we assist?”

Pidge stepped forward with her tablet, showing the readings she had. “We need your help with this,” she said. “This man,” and she tapped the pod, “isn’t our Shiro, he’s a clone. And we think he may have...uh. Stuff. Implanted or programmed. And we’re not sure about his cybernetic arm either. We’d like to help him if we can.”

The old Olkari accepted the tablet, studying the readings as younger Olkari surounded the pod, taking it into the city. The paladins walked with it out of a general reluctance to let it just disappear. “These other two readings, what are they?”

“This first one is the unaltered DNA, before Shiro went into space,” said Pidge. “The second is after he escaped captivity the first time. Um. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to shed light on it?”

“And the third would be this unfortunate’s readings, I see,” said Ryner. “What is it you’re looking to have done, exactly?”

“Free will,” Keith interjected, before Pidge could. “The rest is up to him. But if there’s anything in there that can be controlled or activated from outside – that’s got to go.”

“You’ve got a baseline, that’s a good start,” said Ryner, approving. She’d barely looked up from Pidge’s tablet. “We aren’t familiar with human DNA, mind you, so establishing some comparisons,” and the other human Paladins – much to their surprise – found themselves briefly bathed in light as they were scanned, “would be helpful.” She paused, looking at the new readings. And then at Keith. “You are _not_ human.” She stepped back, a bit alarmed. “This is Galra.”

Keith froze, as Olkari immediately backed away from him. His arms folded across his chest. “And if you’d thought to _ask_ , I’d have said so,” he said shortly.

Allura stepped forward. “He’s been with us. You _know_ that. This is only…a little extra information. None of us are your enemies. We’ve proven that.”

It seemed they did; it took a few moments, but the procession resumed soon enough, and Keith relaxed a little bit as Ryner resumed studying her readings. “You are not our enemies,” she agreed. “It is only unusual to find a galra that looks nothing like a galra that is _not_ dangerous.” She didn’t look up, and so entirely missed Lance quickly slapping a hand across Keith’s mouth. “Quite good work.”

“Er. Excuse me?” said Allura, before Keith disrupted whatever train of thought was going on by smacking Lance.

“The changes,” said Ryner. “Purely cosmetic. Significant Galra heritage under the surface. Your world is not very advanced, I take it?”

“Not so’s you’d notice,” said Hunk. “I mean I don’t remember being subjected to DNA scans until I left Earth, anyway.”

Keith apparently now had a lot to think about; once Lance was sure there weren’t going to be any outbursts, he pulled his hand away. “So. Um. You can help the guy in the pod?”

“Certainly,” said Ryner proudly. “Although it may take a bit to determine how much help he truly requires. You only wish to give him free will? Even if there is an option for physical transformation of some kind?”

“Yeah,” said Lance. “Although if you could _tell_ us, you know, if there’s going to be transformation, that’d be a nice heads-up.”

They were now in some kind of ...lab. It might have been a hospital or a workroom or even a nursery; with the Olkari it could be hard to tell. But the locals were wheeling Takashi’s stasis pod to what looked like a hollow tree trunk and that was really the point at which the paladins were forced to take things on faith. “We will be honored to give all the help we are able,” said Ryner. “And will send word when we have clear results.”

Casting a ‘don’t you dare’ look at Lance, Keith stepped over to Ryner to whisper a few things to her, and got a nod. And a very thoughtful look, as well, before he rejoined the others. “I think we’ve done all we can here for now.”

They nevertheless did stay to watch Takashi’s pod being studied for a bit; Pidge was fascinated, and Hunk was curious, but there really wasn’t anything for any of them to do now that the problem was out of their hands. So they started back for the castleship.

“So you’re thinking of turning purple?” asked Lance. “I mean, that had to be what that was about.”

“I just want to know,” said Keith. “I’ve always looked like this. It wasn’t until I met Kolivan that I realized most part-galra show it somehow.” He’d let them pry out his teeth before admitting he’d also asked if they could help Takashi’s traumas and fears. Most of the things he remembered hadn’t even _happened_ to him. It seemed unfair that he should suffer the aftereffects of it.

“Well. I for one consider it a lucky boon,” said Allura. “Galra are hardly the most attractive species in the universe.”

“There’s a lot of variation,” Hunk mused. “I mean big fluffy ears, stripes, horns, fangs...they’re kind of all over the place, when you think about it. Like comparing finches to flamingos.”

“Guys,” said Keith with aggravated patience, “ _I’m standing right here.”_

“Yeah, it’s great,” said Lance with a laugh. “It’s nowhere near as much fun when you’re not.”

  



	20. Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Love of Lions ~ Hacking

Somewhat to ...well, _everyone’s_ surprise, when they got back to the castleship Keith took Black out. It was pretty clear this was to get the hang of flying a Lion again in general and Black again in particular; the others watched with random attention from the bridge as Black did basic maneuvers around the ship, then more daring and intricate evasions and rolls.

“So...uh. Where are we going next?” asked Hunk. “Or is this a day off for us? I mean, I kinda doubt the Olkari will have answers for us anytime soon.”

“We could take turns using the drones to shoot at Keith,” said Lance. “You know, like Allura did at us at the start.”

Allura shook her head. “No. A lot has changed since then. I don’t think that kind of behavior is appropriate now.”

“He’s just rusty,” said Pidge. “Matt told me Olia wouldn’t let Keith anywhere near the controls. And he stayed with them until Lance went to get him. So that’s months out of a cockpit.” She shrugged. “We could go to an asteroid belt? Those always seem to work for flying practice. And weapons practice too. We can’t really hang around too long, if we’ve got to go attack shipyards.”

Allura nodded, adjusting course. Black, outside, adjusted to match, rolling over like a gigantic kitten with a stuffed toy. She blinked at it. “Do you ever think the Lions enjoy what we do?” she asked.

“Definitely,” Lance nodded. “I used to get that feeling all the time, when I flew Blue. I’m _sure_ she loves to play. Red’s more standoffish, but let him get his fangs in a fighter and he’s a happy kitty.”

Pidge adjusted her glasses. “So Blue is a girl, but Red is a boy?”

Lance gave the others a look somewhere between surprised and worried. “What...you guys never get that feeling? Ever?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever tried putting a _gender_ on Green,” said Pidge slowly. “Green is... _Green_. Clever. Protective. Like the way mother cats hide their litters of kittens. Or a panther hangs on a branch waiting for just the right dinner to walk under the tree.”

“Yellow likes a good brawl, I’m pretty sure of that,” said Hunk. “I mean, probably a lot more than I do. He’ll barrel right through - “ he caught himself. “I just used ‘he’. And Pidge, _mother_ cat? Green’s a ‘she’?”

“I...guess?” said Pidge, frowning. “We _are_ talking about gigantic sexless robots that just happen to look kind of cat-like, you know. I mean if Red is male, where’s its mane?”

Allura noted, “You think _lion_ is what you call them because they look like a cat on your home world. But what if the cat on your home world was named after _these_ Lions? We _are_ talking about legends over ten thousand years old.”

Pidge made a face at that. “Okay, point. And there’s no way Earth etymology would be able to prove or disprove it.”

As the castleship neared an asteroid belt, they watched Black bound ahead into the field of moving stones. The Lion bounced off a few; Keith’s reflexes were more attuned to Red still, it seemed. But Black was tougher and stronger – not to mention _bigger_. The overall effect was of a gigantic kitten attempting to swat a ball with a paw and miss, then pretend it meant to do that only to jump on the ball with all four paws.

It looked...like _fun_.

Like a hell of a _lot_ of fun.

“Anybody else want to go take their Lion out for a run?” asked Lance casually. It had been ages, it seemed, since they’d flown them for anything but dire necessity.

“Let me get Coran to the bridge,” said Allura. “You go on ahead, and I’ll catch up.”

~*~

Ryner studied Takashi’s readings. She wasn’t the only one.

The first request from the galra Paladin had been quite easy; a simple matter to create a holographic display that showed both what fully expressed genes would look like, and what late activation would cause to occur. Of course the man would never look as galra _now_ as he would have if he’d grown up that way, not without corrective procedures anyway. As requests went it had taken her less than half a varga to sort out, and then set aside.

But _Takashi_ , now. _This_ one was somewhere between a jigsaw missing several pieces, and a stained glass window that someone had dropped on the floor. Several Olkari medic-engineers were taking an interest.

Based on the readings from the small Paladin, the base clone had been put through the expected accelerated growth routine, with implanted memories up to a certain point. That was normal. So too the gaps and broken chains that would give a clone a limited lifespan. No one ever made a clone to actually live a full life; clones were there for temporary tasks. Organ transplants and sleeper agents were just the most popular uses. Takashi had at most five more decaphoebs of life; given he was a clone of the Black Paladin, Ryner thought five decaphoebs was being optimistic.

But Haggar and her druids and scientists hadn’t been content to merely make a copy. (If it _were_ Haggar; while Ryner wasn’t sure of anyone else that both could and would undertake a project like this, she wasn’t an expert on Imperial organization.) No. This clone had activatable organic code – which was all DNA was, really – to transform itself. To absorb quintessence from the admittedly quite powerful source that was the cybernetic limb, grow and change into a massively dangerous creature bent on destruction.

The paladins had said _only_ to ensure Takashi’s free will. Ryner wasn’t entirely sure that was a good idea, but Takashi had been the man to lead the battle that liberated a third of the known universe. Perhaps there was no need for more confidence than was inspired by that. So she took notes about the triggers and the target defining code. It looked like a swan song sort of endeavor; if he used that code, and transformed, his lifespan would measure only vargas at most. But in those few vargas, particularly against a surprised enemy...well. Ryner would be glad if it happened somewhere _other_ than Olkarion.

It would take some time, to isolate all the triggering chains, and compulsions. And that didn’t even really address the other problems – the questions the small Paladin had had, about the source of the copy, and whether any flaws might be repairable. (Ryner _thought_ perhaps they might be; the small Paladin had thoughtfully provided a copy of uncorrupted DNA, after all. But the problem with that was that organic machines – living beings – didn’t always just _stop working_ when some part of the code was corrupted. Quite often, the being adapted around the gaps and became something it might otherwise never have been.) The breaks and gaps in Takashi’s human code were what would shorten his life, true. But they were also what made him a man uniquely different from Shiro. A brother, as it were, instead of a reflection.

Olkari had their own views about what was right and proper. Humans were a new thing. _These_ questions, Ryner set aside for the paladins to answer when ready.

And there was one more thing that worried her.

Stasis pods were just that – _stasis_ pods. The being inside was supposed to be entirely inert. Frozen, incapable of thought or movement or emotion.

It was a silly, grubling thought. But Ryner could swear that the man in the stasis pod was anything but insensate. The readouts all said no movement, no heartrate, no brain activity. Yet Ryner was certain that somehow, Takashi was _aware_ in there. Aware...and afraid. Screamingly terrified, in fact.

It was a silly, baseless thought. Worthy of mockery. But Ryner was no silly little grubling, and trusted her instincts. At her order, the lab around Takashi’s pod was kept lit with warm yellow light, and in the off-shift hours, young ones were brought in to practice their reading in the hearing of the pod, speaking stories for it to listen to.

She was not particularly surprised to find that, unusual as the order was, no mockery was forthcoming.


	21. Black's Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asteroid Fight ~ Amid the Void ~ Codes and Hacks

The quintessence of the Lion is mirrored in its Pilot.

It was _almost_ the first thing Allura had told them about the Lions, and like a lot of things about them, had facets of meaning.

In a fundamental, basic sense, Keith _was_ Red – quick, agile, fierce in the attack but quickly swatted down if defense was required. Fire and fury, lightning and wrath.

But that wasn’t _all_ he was, just as there was more to Pidge than her curiosity, or to Hunk than his loyalty.

The truth was that _any_ of them had the potential to lead. But for any of them to do that, they had to grow beyond their comfort zones, embrace aspects they found uncomfortable or challenging – and, moreover, do it for the right reasons. Reasons not bound to the self but the needs of the whole.

Which was a long, roundabout route to Keith concluding that there were two reasons Black kept tapping him for the job and neither of them actually had anything to do with _capability_ as such. They were, simply: Shiro had tapped him, and Keith didn’t _want_ the job. The choice of the then-current Paladin, paired with a complete absence of anything to prove.

Of course, by that logic, the only reason Hunk wasn’t flying Black was Shiro hadn’t tapped him. After the fourth or so attempt at a complex spatial twist that ended (again) with Black headbutting a large rock instead, Keith found himself profoundly wishing Hunk had spoken up a little more.

But he hadn’t. And so this was now...a new normal. Black was _big_. Slower (not _slow_ , not like Yellow, but slower than Red) and powerful more than graceful. Keith kept trying to backtrack to the first days, when Allura had been trying to shoot them down and other such insanities, to remember the exercises about bonding. _Try to see through your Lion’s eyes,_ as Coran had said. _Feel what it feels._

Keith had the sinking feeling that Black was mostly feeling a vaguely bored tolerance for these kitten exercises, but he kept trying. He wasn’t Shiro. He wasn’t even Takashi. He’d never _be_ as good as either. But neither did he ever, ever, want to be the reason one of them was lost. He’d gotten too close to that already.

Rubbing at an aching head while Black was four-paws-perched on a rock far too small for such postures, Keith saw the other four Lions bounding out to join him. At first he looked around for an attack, but then Red pawswatted a rock _right at him_ and forced him to move. “What the -”

“Couldn’t let you have all the fun,” came Lance’s cheery voice over the comm. “Come on. It’s been ages since any of us got to stretch either. ASTEROID FIGHT!”

Yellow sank its fangs into a rocky protruberance, and headflipped an asteroid at Green – who cloaked, only to reappear some distance away as it shoved a rock right back at Yellow.

Lions... _playing_.

Black kicked a rock back at Red – who of course easily dodged it, although it didn’t dodge the rock it smacked into. Blue could make its own, or make them bigger, with the freeze ray, and Allura proved clever at using the trick to alter the spin on asteroids she launched.

The few times Keith had truly felt at home with the other paladins, they’d been playing. Food fight, squishy asteroids, tasting nunville at parties. He had no idea whose idea it was to train this way, but he was _really_ glad of it. He felt...connected. _Home_.

And it was in that realization that he saw through Black’s eyes for the first time. Not as some distant commander or older-more-serious brother, but just...one of the litter. _My lions. My pack._ And through Black’s eyes the day had just gotten a lot better.

They didn’t actually need much leading. Not anymore. They just needed a vote to break the deadlock sometimes, and someone to think about making sure everyone made it home. Black roared in response to the sentiment, voicing its agreement.

Red and Yellow, Blue and Green, roared in answer.

“You guys feel up to storming a few shipyards?” asked Keith.

~*~

A man who thought of himself as ‘Shiro’ walked in memories.

Mostly, what this had taught him was that clearly, he needed to have led a better life. Most of them weren’t very pleasant.

He knew _where_ he was. He even had a fair idea _why_ he was where he was. What he didn’t know, and thus what occupied most of his time when he wasn’t trying not to die from his own memories’ various horrors, was if he’d ever get _out_. And, not coincidentally, who had their hand on the remote control of his life.

He was, at this point, pretty certain it wasn’t _him_ , at any rate. He’d already tried focusing on the better moments. Points where he was fairly sure he’d said the right thing, done the right thing to help someone else. Every time, the moments slipped away like silk, or moth-wings.

That last fight with Zarkon, though, Shiro was fairly certain he’d gone through the entire thing beginning to end at least fifty times by now. While he didn’t like Zarkon any better now than the first time through, and that quintessence-sucking beam didn’t get any easier no matter how many times the events replayed, the repeated run throughs had blunted the adrenaline edge somewhat.

Losing his arm and getting that cybernetic replacement was another memory that got a lot of replay. The pain didn’t change at all, but he’d been through it enough by now to have a _little_ attention to spare for details.

It made the times when he floated in space...really kind of peaceful. Shiro had _seriously_ been dancing much too close to death up to now. But really, what choice was there? _He_ hadn’t picked the fight. Earth hadn’t even gotten out of its own solar system. He’d lost his crew, only to be rescued by kids who really should’ve been allowed to finish growing up before being shoved into a universal war.

He’d done the best he could. And while he was keenly, and somewhat bitterly, aware that that hadn’t always been enough, one of the benefits of being shoved face first into undimmed memory was being forcibly reminded that yeah. It really _had_ been that bad, he really _had_ had a lot to cope with, and he could regret not being perfect all he wanted (and he did want to) but that’s what it was – not a failure to be good enough, but a failure to be perfect.

It still hurt – they deserved perfect, and they really _needed_ perfect – but it didn’t crush.

At least, it hadn’t. He’d gotten kind of used to the cycling of memories – someone had some of the nastier ones on some kind of ‘golden oldies’ repeat loop, he was _sure_ of it – but just once, while floating in what he was starting to think of as “someone’s changing discs”, he’d seen Keith floating there too.

It hadn’t lasted long. Shiro’d just about had time to say something along the line of ‘hi there’ before Keith had reacted as if someone had taken a megaphone, turned on max, and shouted in his ear with it – and then disappeared.

Disconcerting, certainly. Kind of embarrassing, actually. But new, and therefore also interesting. And it wasn’t as if he had much else to occupy his mind.

~*~

Pidge turned the page, and made some notes on her tablet. “Line twelve, word four, ‘cobalt’ in yellow highlighter.”

“ _Yeah, I have no idea why he chose that one,”_ said Matt. _“I’m thinking the yellow highlighter may actually wind up applying to a plus or minus code step.”_

Pidge looked at the surrounding words. “Yeah, I think that makes sense. So what are we up to now?”

“ _A hundred and fifty three,”_ said Matt, with a note of audible awe. _“Dad really knew how to prepare.”_

“Good thing, too,” Pidge agreed. “How do you want to do this? I mean I think I can probably run a cycle of all the codes we’ve worked out on continuous loop, but that does suppose the castleship is in range to pick up a transmission. How’s your ship set?”

“ _It’s an old cargo freighter that Olia managed to add some decent weapons to,”_ said Matt dryly. _“On the universal scale it’s on par with a pocketwatch. But I think I can get it to run this without costing us navigational power, it’ll just be slower. Which, since_ we’re _slower, should come out to about the same results you’ll get.”_ He mulled over the problem. _“What we’d really need to do is set out listening posts. All over the major Galra traffic lanes.”_

Pidge leaned back in her chair, grinning at the little room-screen her brother appeared on. “That could be fun. We might even get the Blades to help with that. If we’re monitoring Galra traffic _anyway_.”

Matt’s smile faded a bit. _“We’re kind of edgy about Blades lately,”_ he admitted. _“I mean at first it was just Keith, and a favor to Voltron, and honestly, I just figured he was lonely. But Elcris is the same, and a lot bigger, and_ definitely not _lonely.”_

Pidge blinked. “Did you try hitting on a galra woman?” she asked, unwillingly fascinated by the sheer gymnastic ability that could imply. Not to mention the fangs.

“ _Uh. No,_ ” said Matt firmly. _“Allura kind of set the gold standard, thank you. I meant...they’re not a friendly sort of bunch, the galra.”_

“I thought the ‘universal life-crushing empire’ bit kind of cemented that, honestly,” said Pidge, wondering where this was going. “Can’t you just send her home? Or back to base?”

“ _I don’t...think so?”_ hazarded Matt. _“Pidge, she’s seven feet tall and could throw me across the room and halfway down a corridor without making a sound. And most days she looks like she’s thinking about it. You should see the effect she has on Olia.”_

Pidge shook her head. “If you’re that worried, I guess go ask Keith. I mean that’s what I’d end up doing. He’s spent the most time with them.”

“ _If I thought he’d answer me I’d have asked him already,”_ Matt pointed out.

Pidge looked ceilingward. Bounty hunters, imperial soldiers, druids, all was sorted and easy. Ask her brother to hold a non-complicated conversation...okay, she probably didn’t have any room to throw stones, on most fronts, but she didn’t see why anyone would be scared of _Keith_ , either. “Just ask him. If he tells you no, then invoke my name. I mean really, he owes me a lot of favors. I am _not_ , honestly, a fan of his taste in music.” She sighed. “...Matt, what do we do if we set out the listening posts and don’t pick up anything?”

Matt’s image sobered too. _“He’s out there, Pidge. He’s got to be. He’s way too clever for a_ work camp _to be the end of him. And you know once he got free, he’d come looking for us. Or me at least. I don’t know if he’d hear you’re out here too.”_

“And officially, you’re dead,” said Pidge. “That graveyard was the worst afternoon of my life.”

“ _Sorry,”_ said Matt, and meant it. _“I really needed to shake off pursuit...do you think dad may have had to do the same?”_

Pidge frowned. “Your name was in a graveyard of what, twenty thousand? More? I mean I don’t know how many places like that there could be. Without your transponder code I’d have taken weeks just to find your marker.”

“ _Dad’s not with the rebellion,”_ said Matt, definitively. _“They’re still much too new to the idea of humans. If anyone I’ve ever interacted with had even_ seen _another human being, they’d have made conversation all afternoon about it.”_

“You don’t think...he’s with the Galra, do you?” asked Pidge carefully. “I mean...he did join Galaxy Garrison. It’s not...entirely unlike him. If it came down to joining or dying.”

Matt’s image twitched a bit. _“I really hope not,_ ” he admitted quietly. _“He’s better at codes than either of us. I mean if he’s using it to get around them, like he did the Garrison, that’s one thing. But if he got...you know, mind-screwed or something...we’d be in a_ lot _of trouble.”_


	22. Midnight at the Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Failure of Instinct ~ Comfort Food ~ Uncomfortable Confrontations

That had gone...really well. Accounting for dealing with Black’s controls and handling and everyone being used to working with Takashi. Keith had to wonder if it was a case of being kind to the last minute alternate; after the last round, nobody really had any expectations of him, and as long as he was _there_ and didn’t just fly off, that seemed to be all that was needed.

Of course shipyards weren’t the same as trying to charge central command or anything like that. They’d been defended, but ultimately places like shipyards were the more mundane sort of targets that, if the coalition had actually consisted of more than a ragtag bunch of randomly acquired rustbuckets, would have been handled by more conventional forces than Voltron.

And the other four were _really_ used to their Lions now. Weeks of taking on cruisers full of fighters while on two hours of sleep meant that, fully _awake_ , the whole thing had been ...kind of a game.

He was really going to _miss_ it. There was nothing quite like flying a Lion in battle, the point where paladin and lion became one hyper-aware being. Black, in particular, had a huge aura of power about it. Flying Black in battle ...wasn’t really describable, but ‘ninja tank’ felt reasonably close. Even flying support, which was most of what Keith had chosen to do – back up whoever was facing the roughest fire. It hadn’t been easy, either – months of no flying, little fighting, he’d have _loved_ to sink Black’s fangs into something.

But he wasn’t going to hand this team over to someone bruised and battered because he couldn’t hang on to his temper. Whether it was Shiro or Takashi, the disappointment would bite too much. That was the thought he hung on to. This wasn’t permanent. He was going to have to give it back, and so it was important that the paladins be in at least as good a condition as when he’d taken charge.

And then he’d be...alone, again.

Keith’s feet were at this point going on autopilot. The castleship was almost designed for insomniac wanderings, with many oddities off the frequently-used corridors. A castleship designed for the lives of hundreds fairly well rattled when asked to house less than ten. So Keith was more than a little surprised when, finding himself in what appeared to be a portrait gallery, he also found himself _not_ alone.

Allura wore the uniform that she seemed to prefer to court-type attire; not paladin armor, but not really casual. At least, not ‘casual’ as Keith would _ever_ choose to describe the word. People in casual clothing didn’t generally look quite capable of kicking your teeth out your ears. She was studying one of the portraits. Or maybe dusting it. Possibly both. Walking over to see which it was, she heard him and visibly startled. “Oh! I – wasn’t expecting you.”

Keith stopped where he was. He’d startled a _lot_ of people in recent months. Going no closer seemed to be the most effective way of keeping things civil. “I’m – just walking,” he said. “I won’t bother you.”

It wasn’t the right thing to say, apparently. She looked embarrassed, and frowned. “You don’t bother me,” she said, the tone probably meant to reassure rather than flatter. There was no invitation there. “I’m – I just don’t usually see other people in this part of the castle.”

Well...yeah. It wasn’t on the way to the kitchens, the lions, the training room or the dorm rooms. And there wasn’t a single computerized screen in sight. That pretty much wiped out the list of reasons anyone else would turn up.

Aaaand she was looking at him. Somewhat anxiously, in fact. Whether this meant he was supposed to stay, or make some excuse and leave her with the portraits, Keith genuinely had no idea. He was bad enough at Human. Altean was a social dialect near-wholly unplumbed.

Instinct suggested retreat. No point getting too attached. Takashi wouldn’t be out of commission _that_ long. He’d spent all day sitting hard on instincts that wanted to charge, press the attack, _rip enemy to shreds_. Keith turned on his heel, picked a direction, and started walking.

Behind him he heard, “Wait!” and footsteps hurrying.

And perhaps if he’d been in a more human mood it would have gone better. Or at least more understandably. But he’d been sitting on galra combat impulses all day, while fighting no less, and all the things he frankly sucked at trying to say came out as an angry, snarled, “ _What?”_ as he spun around to face her, hands with fingers spread near his belt, where the dagger and the bayard were. He didn’t draw either, but the gesture – unconscious as it was – was unmistakable.

Allura’s eyes widened as she _skidded_ to a halt. Alarm. Fear? _Crap_. The wrong thing. _Definitely_ the wrong thing. He was _not_ going to hurt her, or any of them. That was just – _no_.

This time it wasn’t the tactical retreat of the bear so much as it was the spooked four-paw gallop of the fox; Keith bolted.

Allura didn’t chase after him. She watched – offended at first, but quickly sliding into a thoughtful puzzlement. She stayed that way a while, one hand absently leaning against a delicately curving light source as she thought it over.

Her choice of direction was considered.

~*~

The smell was detectable from quite a long way from the kitchens, and served as a lure. Hunk tended to stress-bake, which everyone knew about and no one minded, but this time the smell wasn’t of pasta or cakes but the _ropa vieja_ that Lance had brought back from Earth. Keith followed the scent on instinct alone, the ruffled galra part of him having happy ideas involving red meat.

Alas, the reality wasn’t quite what the nose led him to expect. Hunk _was_ in the kitchen, and something of a culinary nature was probably happening, but there was a decided added element of advanced engineering that shifted the whole from appetizing to just confusing. Food should not, on the whole, involve quite so many tubes and pipes and dials.

“Oh hey,” said Hunk, waving a hand holding a tool. Keith’s grasp of what was going on stopped at ‘a tool’, really; he’d got a fair handle on Earth machines, and by now wasn’t too bad at sorting out Galra machines, but the castleship was Altean and thus beyond his purview. “Couldn’t sleep? Me neither. Have a seat, you can be the taste tester.”

‘Taste tester’ was a magic phrase when paired with smells such as those that filled the air. Keith sat and tried to look interestedly attentive while Hunk did...whatever it was he was doing to the internal machinery of the kitchen.

“So it turns out Alteans are pretty solidly vegetarian,” said Hunk conversationally. “And their machines don’t do a whole lot with animal based proteins. Found that out before, when I made up some milkshakes when Pidge found Matt. But _meat_ is a whole different deal than _dairy_ , so I’m sort of ...setting up a kind of kosher framework so we can have some nice Earth-type flavors without upsetting Coran and Allura too much.”

The pause suggested Keith was supposed to say something. He tried, “You can do that, then?”

“Mostly have,” Hunk nodded, coiling some tubing into a cabinet. “Our gauntlets gather a lot of data, so it’s mostly a matter of just getting things to fit the right chemical compounds. All artificial of course, the only beef out here is Kaltenecker and _nobody is butchering Kaltenecker_ , but the stomach shouldn’t be able to tell the difference.” He closed a panel. “Or the tastebuds. So what’s got you up and wandering? I thought today went pretty well.”

Keith paused. Most of what might have been said wasn’t going to be, simply because Keith didn’t really have words for it. That this was home and family and something he wasn’t going to get to keep, that _today_ had been a lot of sitting on instincts he usually relied on and it made him twitchy, and a huge sense of impending doom whenever he got asked to fly Black because it came with a long list of expectations he could never meet. Even if that last one seemed to be somewhat in abeyance for the moment, it didn’t feel helpful. They were cutting him slack because _they_ knew this was temporary, too.

Hunk turned to watch this silence for a few moments. When he was clear that Keith wasn’t getting past the verbal block, he sighed. “Just...okay, can you tell me if you even _want_ to be here?” he asked quietly. “I mean I know Allura and Lance and Pidge get their ideas and everyone said they _really had to go get you_ , but nobody said anything about whether or not you’d want to come.”

And, again, Keith had a hard time answering, because it wasn’t that simple either. It wasn’t _just_ about where he wanted to be, or where he’d be happy to be. Every role had rules and strings attached, expectations both reasonable and not.

Hunk just looked hurt at the continued silence. He looked down at his hands, the tools he held, and turned back to his work. “Yeah. Well. I know everyone’s saying you’ve got to stay so we’ve got five while Sh- Takashi’s getting healed, but don’t make yourself, okay. Not if this isn’t where you want to be.”

“That’s not it,” said Keith quickly. “I’m just – this is all temporary. It’s just until the mess is sorted out.”

It was all he could manage to say, and to his surprise it seemed to be enough. Hunk kept working, but seemed less overtly miserable about it. “You always think things are temporary, Keith,” he said after a bit. “That’s like...ninety percent of your problem. The sun comes up every morning, and you’re the guy that always thinks ‘today it might not’ and figures it’s armageddon when it’s just two minutes later because it happens to be _autumn_.”

There wasn’t any judgment to Hunk’s tone, as such. It just seemed to be an observation. He closed the last panel, snagged a bowl, and tested the machine. The goo that came out wasn’t green, but a rich reddish brown, and smelled _heavenly_. Hunk sampled it with a fingertip, and nodded approvingly. “Presentation’s kind of terrible, but the flavor’s right. Want some?”

At last, an unequivocal, uncomplicated question. “Hell yes,” said Keith, and was quickly served a bowl of it. With a spork, he noted, and wondered when Hunk had gotten around to _that_ adjustment.

It only sort of looked like red meat. But it had the right flavor and texture and scent and it was, ultimately, exactly the calming influence on his galra instincts that he hadn’t dared hope for. Hunk could take comfort food to _amazing_ levels.

And all he wanted or needed was his food to be appreciated. So Keith wolfing the results down made him pretty happy. “You know,” he said, “things change all the time. If you want to stay, I think that’d work out pretty well. If you want to stay.”

~*~

When Keith eventually returned to his room, he almost managed to hop out backwards on pure surprised instinct to find Allura waiting for him. She gave him a bright smile. “Are you better composed now?”

Keith’s jaw dropped. Thoughts ranging from _what is she doing in my bedroom_ to _Lance really will shoot me_ pingponged around the inside of his head. Jockeying for position was _does this mean I can’t tell her to leave?_ Because it was, technically, _her_ ship. Or maybe not even ‘technically’.

“Lance told me an interesting story,” said Allura, in that particular pleasant tone that Keith couldn’t really translate but knew hid _something_. “He told me that the two of you had a conversation that involved him threatening to electrocute you. Daily, if I recall correctly. But that he would, if necessary, break you out of prison first.” She smiled at him. Pleasantly. “Did that conversation really happen?”

 _Allura’s weapon is a kind of energy whip._ For some reason Keith’s brain felt like reminding him of that. Warily, because he had no idea why Allura was asking this (or rather, was _in his bedroom_ asking this), he nodded.

“Do you know,” said Allura, conversationally, “you’re really quite difficult to deal with?”

Keith blinked. This, at least, was _very_ familiar territory. “I’ve heard that a lot.”

“I’d never _heard_ of humans before you lot brought Blue here,” Allura continued. “And every time I think I understand you, something like that happens and I have to wonder if I really understand any of you at all.” She studied him, the smile fading a bit. “I’d like to ask you why you and Lance do not seem to be enemies, after he told you a thing like that. But – do you even know?”

The sensation of a mental blue screen was difficult to describe, but was the reason Keith’s actual answer was, “You’re in my bedroom to ask me about Lance threatening to taser me?”

Allura just...smiled. That pleasant smile. Keith guessed this meant she wasn’t going to go anywhere unless she got an answer. He had one, sort of.

“I’ve been left behind a lot,” he said slowly. “And very nearly left behind a lot more. The Blades teach it’s the mission that matters. At the time, the mission was getting the things Pidge asked for onto Red, and getting Red, and Lance, back here. Lance was...telling me that the mission _wasn’t_ all that mattered.”

Allura thought that over. The silence stretched more than a little awkwardly. Eventually, Keith ventured, “So. Is...that all?”

“The galra find you very confusing, don’t they?” Allura mused. “You act in ways that seem to surprise them, I suspect.”

Keith blinked. “...I’m at least half human.”

“Oh, I’m not talking about genetics,” said Allura. “Though after years around you and the others, I’m sure the human side of you baffles them at least as much as it does me. No, I mean _you_ , specifically. You act, and think, mostly like a galra. Most of the time.”

“I’ve heard _that_ a few times too,” said Keith, wary again. He knew very well what Allura thought about galra.

“You act like a much _younger_ galra,” Allura clarified. “They’re not particularly family oriented, you see. Except when they’re quite young. When a galra is old enough to fight – and certainly, when one is old enough to fight as well as you do – that need for family fades, and tends to be replaced by the adult organizational structures. But not for _you_. You thought the Blade of Marmora would bring you _friends_ , didn’t you? That isn’t usually how galra work. It definitely isn’t when they’re doing work as dangerous as the Blades usually do. I’m sure they care for you, and I know they respect you. But that means they think of you as an ally, a comrade in arms. Not a friend, or family.”

Keith scowled. While he didn’t really have grounds to argue with anything she’d said – although he did wonder how she knew – he was fairly sure there were at least a few insults in there and wasn’t particularly happy about it.

Allura’s Pleasant mask faded to something a little more worried, a little sadder. “I don’t know if it’s the human side of you, or just the life you’ve lived, but _you_ need family. You even know that you do; you’ve even let the rest of us take _naps_ on you. But everything in your world lately has been telling you that you shouldn’t need it, or won’t have it. You were...right. I shouldn’t have reacted as badly as I did to finding out you were part galra. I’ve tried to make amends, but I think maybe now I should try to make it _right_ , too. So...let me help you. The human side of you needs to be _here_. The other paladins are your family. And I’m telling you this because you seem to be expecting them to treat you the way the Blades would and that will only lead to trouble. If you leave again, they’re going to track you, and they’re going to try to bring you back. Because you are _family_. And they’re concerned for you.”

“...” Keith didn’t have any kind of answer for this. He just stared at her. It was like he’d turned to glass and she was reading everything that really bothered him off the back of the inside of his skull. It was much much worse than just having her in his bedroom. Honestly it was worse than being _naked_ would have been. And he had no idea what to do with it.

Allura stood up, and gently put a hand on each of his shoulders. She’d adjusted her height to look him in the eye. “And I will help them do it,” she said simply. “So...whatever your plans at this point might be, I suggest that you make your peace with that.” She withdrew her hands, then, and said, “Good night, Keith,” as she made her way serenely out the door.

Keith just stared at where she’d been for a few moments. And then slowly, rhythmically, began beating his head on the doorframe. The world had clearly gone insane, or possibly he had, because when it all came down to it he’d honestly been a lot more comfortable with Lance’s threat to taser him.


	23. The Awakening of Takashi

Several Olkari gathered around the medical pod of the man now called Takashi, waiting with polite interest.

It had taken quite a bit of work, really. Galra did not let go their servants lightly, and it wasn’t actually a use of their skills that the Olkari had delved much into. But when you’d crossed the line between binary code and DNA enough times, the human body was just another machine when you got down to it. As a scientific team, Ryner’s people were confident that they’d done as the Paladins had requested.

Now they were _very_ curious to see what would happen next.

Ryner stood ready as the pod opened. No one was surprised that the human all but slumped forward out of the pod; brain activity – once he’d gone from stasis to medical – had consistently registered agitated, nightmare levels. The old Olkari caught him as he fell. “It’s all right now,” she offered.

He gave her a look comprised of equal parts relief and disbelief, as he accepted her help. The group applauded politely, then dispersed to present a post-recovery meal. The human seemed both grateful to have it, and relieved nothing in it was at all identifiable. It was pretty, it was healthy, he’d learned not to ask what it might be made of. The chair _alone_ was worth the thanks. He sank down into it and selected something at random. “Thank you,” he said, meaning it. “I feel...odd.”

Ryner and a few of the more deeply curious of her associates took seats around the feast, sampling as seemed polite, but leaving the majority to their patient. “It is to be expected,” said Ryner. “The Paladins requested that we restore your free will.”

The human blinked. “ _Restore_?” he asked.

“There were a number of subconscious compulsions driving you,” Ryner nodded gently. “To make your way to Voltron at all costs. To remain near the Paladins at all costs. A few less deeply embedded ones regarding allaying suspicion, and enhancing your fears of the medical pods. We have removed them all.”

The former Black Paladin sat back, blinking. “That...wasn’t _me_?”

“You should eat,” Ryner chided. “And it was, and it was also not. You were not meant to know your own nature. Everything driving you was built upon foundations already present. As one might shape a tree by adding a weight or a block to a growing branch, the result is still the _tree_ , but other than it might have been.” She paused. “The Paladins requested we refer to you as ‘Takashi’. Is this acceptable?”

It was, honestly, the very last thing on the man’s mind. To be so casually told that everything that deeply mattered was just...programming laid on you by someone else, that everything he’d fought for, nearly _died_ for so many times was no more than a ‘compulsion’ implanted from outside, _that_ occupied pretty much every part of him. He barely noticed, “Yeah, sure,” being said in response. Names didn’t matter that much. _Who he was_ was a much bigger question.

He did eat, although he didn’t pay much attention to the food or the process; it was just that coming out of an extended stay in a medical pod had that effect. His mind was on – well, _everything_ else. “What can you tell me, about what was done?” he asked.

Several of the scientists had gone, possibly while he was quietly eating, because that wasn’t particularly interesting. Ryner was still there, though. “I can tell you that you are very fortunate,” she said. “And very strong. You were not meant to know your own nature. From the moment you were told, a biochemical countdown was begun. Which you averted by placing yourself in stasis. Given that you had compulsions to avoid doing so, it must have been a great act of will.”

If by that she meant he’d been terrified almost to the point of physical breakdown, Takashi could accept it. Because that was mostly what he remembered – the terror, the _knowing_ he’d be trapped in nightmares. If Keith hadn’t been there… “Countdown?”

Ryner looked...sympathetic. She didn’t want to be telling him this. But she held out a little cube, which when activated projected -

\- _argh_. Takashi closed his eyes. “So...I can turn into _that_ , then.” Deep breaths. It’s rude to follow up a meal with throwing up all over your host.

“Yes,” said Ryner. “You still can. But it is now a choice you can make, or not make. We have removed all of the means for anyone else to cause it, and the means for anyone else to control your actions in that state. I can tell you that it was originally designed for you to hunt down and destroy your fellow Paladins.”

He felt very much like being violently ill was still, as it were, on the table. Deep breaths. Focus on the hands, focus on keeping them from trembling. This was really...really _not_ a good day. He did some self-assessment, and said, “I need time to absorb this. Um. Is there somewhere I could stay? Quiet, maybe?”

Ryner blinked. “Of course,” she said. “You are our honored guest. But do you not wish to contact the Paladins?”

“Not right now,” said Takashi. _I really need to know what_ I’m _going to do about all this before I involve them._ “I need to sort out...my memories. I think.”

The old Olkari nodded. “Yes, of course. We have done what we can to make that easier for you. Please, come with me.”

~*~

The room was small, but really rather pleasant, with a window that got sunlight for most of the day, and the smell of growing things filling it. That at least wasn’t much of a surprise; the room was within a tree, one of the old rebel houses left empty now that the Olkari could live in their city again. Takashi could have the whole tree, but for now was fine with just the room to sleep in, think in.

There was _so much_ to go over. And part of him did still want to call the Paladins up and go back into the fray – they needed him, and he needed to be part of things. But he knew, too, that he _really_ needed to sort himself out, and there wouldn’t be any time for that once he called the castleship. Paladin life didn’t leave much time for introspection.

Ryner had been right; his memories had a different feel, now. Or at least, a lot of them did. It had given him headaches, before, to reach back before his second capture, and now he knew why; none of those memories were truly his own. He’d been trying to forge a connection to a life that hadn’t been his, because how could someone live those events and _not_ feel something about it?

And the answer was, of course, that he _hadn’t_ lived those events. Someone else had. Someone whose life he’d...stolen, even if he hadn’t meant to. Someone whose life he’d been meant to destroy. A sick, boiling _hatred_ for the Empire swept over him. No one, _no one_ deserved that kind of cruelty. And he had the man’s memories. He _knew_ the man did not deserve it. Takashi had lived with those kids, those paladins, for months. Years maybe. They were good people. And he’d been this close, _this close_ , to being used against them like ...a puppet, dancing on strings.

_If you find yourself in a dream – call for Black. I think it knew from the start who you were...who you weren’t. But it still trusted you._

It was an odd thing for his mind to latch on to. But it was heartening nonetheless. Black _had_ trusted him. And he hadn’t betrayed that trust, although it was unnerving to know how close a thing that had ultimately been. He’d flown Black for months. He’d led the Paladins and it had _not been bad_. The trust hadn’t been misplaced.

He might not be ‘Shiro’. But he wasn’t the monster the Empire had tried to make him into, either.

_You deserve to live your own life too. We’ll do what we can._

Takashi didn’t have the same connection to Keith that Shiro had had. Objectively, he could see that fairly clearly now, and that it had possibly led to some less-than-stellar choices in the past. Not feeling the connection, he hadn’t taken it into account – and Keith probably _had_ , to detrimental effect. He’d still held Takashi’s hand through the night, and walked with him to the stasis pod. But was it kindness, or just acceptance? He _wasn’t_ the same boy who’d left the Paladins to train with the Blade of Marmora, though even with all the memories at his disposal Takashi wasn’t entirely sure who he’d become. That _did_ nag at him a bit, because some of the memories that _were_ his own were very much aggravation at Keith’s idea of priorities. He’d left the Paladins in Keith’s care because...what choice was there?

How long did he want to leave it that way?

No. That was the wrong question. That was assuming he had a viable choice, and he didn’t _know_ that he had a viable choice. Black had _trusted_ him. Takashi knew, now, that that had been a serious risk on Black’s part. He owed it to Black to be certain that -

Takashi froze. A rather specific memory came to mind – the confused jumble of his escape. Memories he’d never focused on because they didn’t make much sense at the time (and if Ryner was right, because they’d said too much about what he really was).

The memory of seeing _himself_ on an operating table.

Oh gods. _There was more than one clone._

Of _course_ there was. Why go to the trouble of making just one? He’d nearly died several times before the Paladins had found him mostly-dead in deep space. If he’d died, the whole...thing, whatever this was, would have been a waste of resources. But not if they could just ‘release’ another clone. Sooner or later, one would make it to the paladins. With a convincingly harrowing tale of ‘escape’.

Takashi sat on the edge of the room’s narrow bed, face in his hands (and the cold metal of the prosthetic did nothing for his mood). Ryner had healed _him_. But what of the next clone, and the next?

Would Black trust _them_ , too?

There was no way this was Zarkon’s plan. This was Haggar’s work, start to finish. Her magic, her _plotting_. Because he couldn’t ...he _didn’t dare…_ talk to Black again. Didn’t dare fly it, even with all the Olkari had done for him. And even if the – even if Shiro were found and rescued, _he_ wouldn’t be able to fly Black either.

No. Not ‘unable’. That was the whole point. Until one of the clones actually betrayed the Lions – until the plan actually _succeeded_ – Black had no real reason to refuse even a clone that offered trust. The Lions clearly didn’t (or maybe couldn’t) judge based on what you _might_ do. What you, more specifically, had _not yet done_. They saw potential, and accepted or refused based on that potential, but they didn’t seem to judge potential that could turn dark. Zarkon had been judged worthy because he was a powerful leader, motivated to protect his people. Even when he’d turned evil, Black had retained its bond with him. _Leadership and strong will_ were what it valued, _trust_ in one’s people, one’s purpose.

It was as Ryner had said. A tree, even if one used blocks, ropes, to twist the branches into new shapes, was still the same tree. The Lions didn’t judge the shape of the tree, they judged the tree itself. As long as Zarkon, or Haggar, or whoever was behind this didn’t change _too much_ of the underlying code...they could just throw clones at the Black Lion until one of them activated. And then Voltron would be theirs – or at the very least, removed from the field. Either would be victory for the Galra.


	24. Six Paladins

In a universe full of options, the question sooner or later would always come down to ‘so, what next?’

The paladins, as a group, were reluctant to take on ambitious targets. Keith in the Black Lion _worked_ , if by ‘worked’ one meant ‘there were now five lions and a possible Voltron in the field’ and nothing more. But he hadn’t flown with the group in some time, and so there was a lot of adjusting on everyone’s part to get anything like a group meld going. To his credit Keith seemed at least as aware of this as everyone else and seemed to be reining his temper in hard, but the blunt truth of the matter was that as happy as everyone was to have him _back_ , trust that he wouldn’t hare off on his own (again) was slow to be regained. Voltron did not have a leader, or a head; it simply existed. That was enough for smaller targets that could be driven off by the sight of the giant robot’s sword, but wouldn’t be anything like enough for a more entrenched or fortified base.

The call from Olkarion was thus hailed as welcome by everyone, and an overt relief by Keith in particular.

Touching the castleship down on the planet, they’d expected to meet Takashi. Instead it was Ryner who met them. “Takashi will not be leaving with you,” she said quietly, as she led them through the city.

“What?” said Keith, before anyone else could. “Why? Is he okay?”

“I thought you guys said you could heal him?” asked Lance.

“Yes, and yes,” said Ryner. “As you requested, we restored his free will. This is his choice. He asked to explain things to you personally, and so we called for you.”

The paladins shut up at that – since he wasn’t here, for one, and they weren’t sure where they were being led to. Ryner took them to the forest, and one of the tree-homes there had an inhabited look to it. She put her hand to a place on the bark, and a door opened in the wood. One by one, they went inside.

It wasn’t particularly huge. Rather, a spiral stair wound up and down around the interior wall, with what seemed to be fiber optic cables channeling natural sunlight to anywhere it was needed. Down into the roots, a spacious sitting room waited. For something literally made of earth and roots, it managed to be pleasantly inviting. Takashi was standing there, waiting. He gestured with his human arm to couches along the wall. “Nice to see you again,” he said. “You should probably sit down.”

They did – except, somewhat predictably, for Keith, whose arms folded across his chest. “You’re not coming back?” he asked, the tone somewhere between accusing and hurt.

“...Yeah, I had a feeling you’d have a problem with it,” said Takashi dryly. “Which is why I thought this needed to be in person. You need – you _all_ need – to understand why this is necessary.”

“I thought this whole Olkarion thing was so you could come back,” said Hunk. “You know. Go get the hooks out, and then it’s all good.”

“And you did, and I have, and...kind of,” said Takashi. “But there’s a problem that I’m not sure you’ve considered.” He looked over at Pidge. “You tell me, Pidge. Is it logical to assume that the Empire, having already made _me_ , stopped there? When they’ve got the resources to make a lot?”

Pidge winced. “...No,” she said slowly. “But they can’t just send more clones in. I mean we’d _know_ , if we saw more than one Shiro at a time. There’d be no point.”

“...It’s about the Black Lion, isn’t it,” said Keith quietly.

Takashi nodded at Keith. “Guys, think about it. I’d never flown Black before Keith left for the Blades. But Black let me fly it. Because I’m _enough_ like Shiro.”

Hunk’s eyes closed. “So as long as they’re all _enough_ like Shiro...but wouldn’t Black reject one that tried to hand it over to Zarkon?”

“That’s...not how it works,” said Allura sadly. “The bond is built on trust. And it wouldn’t be trust if it couldn’t be betrayed. Risk is part of the nature of trust. Takashi isn’t Shiro. But he has enough of the same qualities that Black was willing to trust him. _That’s_ what Zarkon is exploiting. The bond of trust.”

“But _you_ can fly Black now,” said Lance. “The hooks are gone. _You_ wouldn’t betray Black. I mean – you’ve _proven_ that.”

“I shouldn’t,” said Takashi. “Because every time I did I’d be leaving that door open. Guys...I _know_ there are other clones. I thought – I thought it was delirium, at first. But I know better now. There’s ...a lab, somewhere, and it’s _full_ of clones. I don’t know if they’ve got ...the original Shiro there or just his arm, or what they’re doing to make them. But I’ve seen them. It’d be as simple as Zarkon sending agents to kidnap me and in a month or two drop another clone in to take my place.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” said Pidge firmly. “Because we _know_ now. We can do a scan. We can ID clones.”

“It’s not _us_ he’s after,” said Keith slowly. “It’s the Lion.” Not that he was at all happy to say so.

“Exactly,” said Takashi. “We already know that the bond between Lion and Paladin can extend across great distances. So...the greater Shiro’s bond is...the greater _mine_ is...the easier it becomes for any of the clones to tap into that. Exploit it. That’s even how you all found me in the first place, remember? I _can’t afford_ to deepen my bond with Black. It...ironically, it just makes Black more vulnerable to this type of attack. The only way I can justify Black’s trust in me is to sever that bond entirely.” He made a face. “Not, mind you, that I’m at all sure _how_ to do that.”

“So...all those fights we’ve had for months now,” said Hunk. “That was just to push _you_?”

“I think so,” Takashi nodded. “From what Ryner tells me, you were all just in time. Zarkon was looking to push me to the point where the...the programming...would take over. If I hadn’t gone into a stasis pod, I’d have lost myself before ever reaching Olkarion.”

“We could free all the other clones too,” Lance mused. “I mean...an _army_ of pissed off Shiros...there’s no _way_ Zarkon could cope with that.”

From the looks on Keith’s and Takashi’s faces, Zarkon was absolutely not the only one.

“ _No,_ ” said Takashi firmly. “Look...it’s taken me a while to accept that I’m not who I thought I was. And apparently Ryner and her people had to do a lot to give me that freedom. Don’t think I’m not grateful, but I can tell you with certainty – Shiro would _not_ be okay with that idea.”

“Then tell us where this lab is,” said Keith. “We’ll take it out. All of it. No more clones, then.”

“Honestly...I wish I knew,” Takashi admitted. “It’s one reason I want to stay here. I think the Olkari may be able to help me clarify my memories. In the meantime all I can offer you is ‘Operation Kuron’. I heard the phrase a few times. If the Blades can get to the bottom of it, they may be able to find out where it’s based, and how extensive it is.”

Allura asked, carefully, “But that still doesn’t explain why you won’t come back with us,” she said. “All right. Perhaps you are correct, and for the good of all you have to sever your connection with the Black Lion. But you have been much more than a pilot. Your _leadership_ is still sorely needed.”

“Yeah,” Lance agreed. “I mean Keith’ll blow us all up. You _know_ he will.”

Although a few looked at him, waiting for some snark or quip about the vote of confidence, Keith said nothing. If anything he seemed to accept the sentiment as fact. When he realized he was being watched, he said, “This was never meant to be permanent, Takashi. They didn’t intend me to take your place, and I never wanted to take the Black Lion from you. Or Shiro.”

“Let’s be...unambiguous,” said Takashi carefully. “ _I_ can’t allow myself near Black anymore. I won’t violate Black’s trust that way. And you can’t allow Shiro near it either, unless you find that lab, and you’re sure you’ve not only destroyed _every_ other clone but whatever means they’re using to create them. That means, Keith...that you not only have to make your own bond with Black as strong as you can, but that you will have to lead that assault. I have more experience...but we have to expect that whoever’s got that lab knows what _I_ would do pretty well, given ...well. Lab full of clones.”

“I’d do better finding that lab if I can return to the Blades,” said Keith simply. He was looking at Takashi, and so didn’t see the immediate ‘oh, hey, wait a minute’ expressions on the faces of the others. But Takashi did.

Takashi addressed them. “Cards on the table time. Can you make it work? _All_ of you. I know it didn’t go so well before, but the situation’s changed. Yes, you’ll be taking a few steps backward while he learns how to do this. _Can you make it work_?”

Now Keith _was_ angry. “And I don’t get a choice in this?” he snapped, and stalked out. The tension broke in his wake; the other Paladins slumped.

“Not if he keeps doing _that_ ,” said Pidge sourly.

“Black _does_ accept him,” said Allura slowly. “So the potential must be there...”

“Is this a diamond-in-the-coal thing?” asked Lance. “Because...” he waved a hand at the empty spot in the air. “Look, I get that this seems to be an ongoing thing with you two, but do we really, _really_ have to do this again?”

Hunk was watching that empty space too, frowning, and rocking a bit. “...I thought he _wanted_ to stay, this time.”

Takashi pinched the bridge of his nose. This was...this was drawing on a lot of memories that weren’t his. He _didn’t_ know Keith that well. He did know this group, though, and it was tempting, really tempting, to just say ‘yeah, sure, bad idea’ and go back to what he truly _wanted_ to be doing and damn all the logical reasons why he shouldn’t.

But Black had put its trust in him, even knowing what he really was. Everyone else had assumed he _was_ Shiro – and they still kind of did. Black had known better. Black had always known better. It was a sick, slick move on someone’s part, a perfect vengeance for Shiro taking Black from Zarkon. And maybe, one day, these four could make it safe for the ‘true’ Shiro to sit in that seat again...but Takashi couldn’t. Couldn’t let himself. And he knew if he did, for however good a reason, he’d be leaving the door open for a clone not so worthy of Black’s trust to betray it.

“Guys,” he said quietly, “We’re just going to have to admit that for the time being, Zarkon’s forces have one-upped us. I _must not_ fly Black again. Keith _needs_ to strengthen that bond. He needs to make it stronger than mine, stronger than Shiro’s. So Zarkon can’t use it against you. But that bond is built on trust. Not just between pilot and lion, but between all five of you. What you’re telling me is that you don’t trust him – and we already know he doesn’t trust himself. I need you to tell me something different, because if we let that stand then Zarkon’s already won.”

The four paladins were morosely studying the floor of the underground sitting room, firmly saying nothing at all. Which was all the answer there seemed to be – they _didn’t_ trust Keith. Not in this role, not for this task. He was their friend, and they loved him, but trust was something else.

Worse, Keith not only knew they felt that way, but agreed with it.


	25. The Conversation We Never Got To Have

Lance was the first to speak. “This...isn’t going to just be all on our end, Sh- Takashi,” he said, stumbling a bit on the newish name. “I get that we haven’t been the most helpful. I’m willing to work on that. But,” he gestured to the empty air where Keith had been, “ _that_ has _got_ to stop. He’s either in this or he’s not.”

Allura nodded agreement. “Either we are a team, or we are not.”

Hunk shook his head. “Either we’re _friends_ or we’re not. Come on, guys. You think he doesn’t _know_ how badly he messed up? You’d think nothing else important has happened, like _ever_. He screwed up. People died, almost including us. _Of course_ he’s not leaping at the chance to screw up like that again. I wouldn’t either.”

“I’d just like to note that what we think about it doesn’t actually matter if he isn’t here to talk to,” said Pidge.

Takashi looked from face to face. “This is important, guys. Can I count on you to help him, or not?”

“I think you can,” said Allura levelly. “If you can get _him_ to stay the course. I can’t speak for the others, but that is all I would ask.”

A few moments passed before the others nodded. “We can talk things out, if he’s around for us to talk _with_ ,” Lance agreed. “Even if we’ve got to shake him a lot first.”

“I’d rather have him in the Black Lion than back with the Blades,” said Hunk. “I don’t know what he did with them, but I don’t think it was good for him.”

Pidge spoke last. “...I agree with your reasoning,” she said slowly. “And I suppose since Black chose him, there’s got to be a reason for it. But I agree with Allura and Lance, too. He’s got to stay with us if it’s going to work.”

Takashi nodded. “All right. I’m going to let you four hash out how you want to handle communication. Get it all out of your system, try to find ways to say what needs saying that don’t...” he shrugged. “He’s already got a very clear eye for what he’s doing wrong. It’s the idea that he can make a mistake and _not_ have that be the end of the world that he’s having trouble with. I’ll go track him down.”

~*~

Keith took some finding, although this was in part because he had a forest to hide in. The other part was that he wasn’t hearing any calls, due to having apparently brought earbuds and a music drive Takashi had personally never seen. The combination meant Takashi had plenty of time to sort through memories not his own, trying to make sense of just _why_ someone who so clearly badly needed to be with the other paladins, seemed so quick to leave them when asked to take any kind of responsibility.

Honestly, Takashi would much, much rather have left _this_ tangle to Shiro. Too much seemed to depend on ...feelings about events that Takashi hadn’t lived through, and only really knew about if he spent conscious time sorting through the memories he’d been given. But if he _didn’t_ sort through it, if he didn’t get these five at least _on the way_ to being a team...Shiro might never be found. And that wasn’t acceptable.

So Takashi was _mostly_ calm, when at last he found Keith very high up in one of the house-trees, sitting on a branch that seemed to serve as a narrow balcony, listening to something Takashi could faintly make out was fast-paced and probably very angry. Yet he knew when Takashi neared without having to see him, turning off the music to put it away. “I’m really not in the mood for a lecture about duty right now.”

“Wasn’t going to give you one,” said Takashi, taking a seat next to Keith. “Was thinking more about asking you why, not telling you anything. So – why?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Keith bitterly. “I’ve heard it all before. I can’t replace you, or Shiro. No one could. And I don’t even _want_ to. But there has to be five Paladins. The universe needs Voltron. So it doesn’t matter.”

 _Ouch_. Takashi blinked. There was a truly impressive ability here to take everyone’s good intentions and shove them sideways to a conclusion that, while not inaccurate, wasn’t what anyone had intended either. Keith saw himself as...repairing a broken part with a rubber band and a pencil. The result might work, but wasn’t exactly quality. Takashi leaned back against the tree, glad he’d taken the time to sort himself out before tackling this. Eventually, he said, “I suppose that’s true. But it doesn’t answer my question. Why leave?”

“I let them down,” said Keith. “And I’m not you, or Shiro. I can’t be.” He shook his head. “I’ll...come back. I just need to accept this isn’t going to get better.”

 _Get better_. “You don’t want to be with your friends?” asked Takashi. “Your family?”

“I don’t want to let them down,” clarified Keith. “ _Again_. I don’t want to put them in danger. _Again_. But I don’t get a choice about that, do I?” The bitterness cut the air.

“Shiro didn’t,” said Takashi simply. “I never did either. It goes with the job. So...why do you think the Black Lion chose you, then?” asked Takashi. “Why not one of them?”

The look Keith shot him was borderline resentful. “Shouldn’t I be asking _you_ that?”

“You think I told the Black Lion to accept you?” asked Takashi. “Or that Shiro told it to?”

“You tell me,” said Keith.

Takashi shook his head. “Neither. The Black Lion chose you. I think...Shiro wouldn’t disagree with its choice. He saw a lot of potential in you.”

“But you don’t,” said Keith flatly. “You’ve seen the results.”

This got delicate, because he wasn’t wrong. “I think...Shiro underestimated how afraid you are to lose, to fail,” Takashi said after a while. “And I think there wasn’t enough time devoted to actually preparing you for the job.” He thought about it a bit longer. “And honestly...I think he had, and has, no idea how much he means to you.”

“And you _do_?” asked Keith, warily now.

“I’ve got a little distance from the problem,” said Takashi. “And, as you’ve said, I’ve seen the fallout. Shiro disappeared. Black tapped you. But you didn’t want it because to you, it wasn’t an honor. Or a favor to a friend. It was taking something away from someone you care about, someone you feel you owe everything to. And that’s not who you are. And then I turned up, and all you wanted was to give it back to who you thought I was – honestly, to who _I_ thought I was. And...you’re right. Flying Black meant everything to Shiro, and it’s meant a lot to me. Having to watch someone else do it...hurt. I...probably rode you harder than I should have.”

“And you want me to do it again,” said Keith. “But _worse_. You want me to _take_ Black from Shiro. Not just take over for a while, but for good. Even if we find him again.”

“Yes,” Takashi agreed simply. “But I’d like you to understand...this isn’t the same situation. And I think Shiro getting hurt is the entire point of this whole operation. He _took_ Black from Zarkon. I mean, actually fought Zarkon one on one and broke Zarkon’s link to Black. Whoever’s done this has set it up so that unless someone breaks _Shiro’s_ link to Black, Black is ultimately going to be betrayed, and delivered straight to Zarkon – or destroyed. So Shiro will either know what it is to lose that link, or he’ll be part of the reason everything he fought for is broken. Which do you think he’d rather live through?”

“And what if I can’t do it?” asked Keith. “Black respects leadership. My track record isn’t exactly stellar.”

“And Shiro’s was?” asked Takashi. “He was chosen. Now you are. You nearly got your teammates killed, made some mistakes. I get that. I think you’re glossing over the fact that Shiro was in exactly the same position, in the beginning. Black chose him when all he had to hold up was ‘everyone in the Kerberos mission was captured, he had no idea if any of them lived, and he’d spent a year being experimented on and forced to fight in the arena’. Nobody _starts out_ being great, Keith. You work at it, you get there eventually.”

“Shiro had us,” said Keith quietly. “You heard them down there. I don’t. Shiro may have failed the Kerberos crew. _I_ failed the _Paladins_.”

Which...wasn’t really something Takashi could argue, since he’d been around to see a lot of it personally. There was the Keith that Shiro remembered, and the Keith that Takashi remembered. They didn’t mesh very well. It wasn’t that Shiro had been wrong – but _something_ had gone sideways, clearly. Something had gone really, _really_ sideways, that nothing as yet had fixed. “Humor me a minute?” he asked.

Keith slanted a wary look at him. “All right.”

“Is it being a Paladin?” asked Takashi. “I mean – take all the complications and why-nots off the table. Let’s say you flew Red again. Or Black with full support. Whatever appeals. Would you rather be a Paladin, or a Blade?”

“I’m Shiro’s right hand,” said Keith simply. “That’s all I ever wanted to be.”

Which...didn’t answer the question. Or maybe it did. If it did, though, Takashi couldn’t make it fit the available options. Was that the problem? “So...if Shiro’s not there, it doesn’t matter? The others don’t matter?”

“No,” said Keith quickly, “that’s not what I mean. Just...I don’t -” He stopped, lips thinning. Frustrated with words that didn’t work, he stopped talking.

“Take your time,” Takashi advised. “Think it out.” _Something_ was clearly eating at him. Had been eating at him.

“You’re _making_ me take something away from Shiro that matters to him,” said Keith at last. “This whole time. This whole – _question_. It doesn’t _matter_ how ‘necessary’ that is, I can’t do that to him. I won’t.”

Ah. And loyalty was one of the defining traits of Red’s chosen. To be the right hand. Keith could lead – _had_ led, actually, if reports were accurate. But never when ‘leading’ meant taking something away from someone else. From Shiro in particular. Maybe what was needed was a new angle to view it from.

“And if I said I’m not asking you to take anything away from him?” asked Takashi.

“I’d say you’re lying,” said Keith bluntly. “Because that’s all you’ve said so far – that I’d have to take Black away from Shiro. For good.”

“Do you really think Shiro is that selfish?” asked Takashi. “That he’d value his bond with Black over Black’s wellbeing, and the rest of the paladins, and the fight against Zarkon?”

Ah. That had hit. Thank goodness for that. Keith frowned, thinking.

“I’m not Shiro,” said Takashi. “But I’ve got his memories. I can tell you that if it meant keeping Black out of Zarkon’s hands he’d walk away from Black. Because it’s more important that Black be free of Zarkon than that he be the one at the controls. And more than that, he cared about you, and the rest of the Paladins. They need a leader who will _look after them_. I think that’s what Black sees in you. That you’d protect them, if you let yourself.”

Keith awarded him a truly dubious look. “Because I’ve done such a great job of _that_ so far.”

“Just...answer me,” said Takashi. “Why did you hold my hand, when you came back?”

“Because I could tell you were having nightmares,” said Keith. “And that always used to help.”

“So you didn’t know, then, that I wasn’t Shiro?” asked Takashi.

“...I decided it didn’t matter,” said Keith quietly. “Not for that.”

“And Lance, visiting his family,” said Takashi. “Yeah, I saw the piles of new things. Whose idea was that?”

“He wanted to go,” said Keith, a bit defensively. “And he needed to. I just gave him a good excuse.”

“You knew I wasn’t Shiro when we went to the stasis pod,” said Takashi. “But you helped anyway.”

“So?” asked Keith, confused now.

“They don’t ask you for help very often,” said Takashi. “But you always have. They probably don’t _need_ as much help now as they used to. But they need someone to be there when they do. Why _wouldn’t_ Shiro trust you to be that person?”

“Because you can’t just scale that up and have it work,” said Keith shortly. “We tried it, remember?”

“No,” said Takashi. “You weren’t thinking about it as helping them. You were thinking about it as taking Shiro’s place. Taking something away from him, instead of taking care of something _for_ him. You’re going to look for him, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” said Keith.

“So, there’s several ways it could go,” said Takashi. “One is, you never find him. Voltron needs someone to hold it together. And don’t look at me. Ryner said I have a few years to live, at most. Clones aren’t meant to live long. Long term, it will ultimately be you, so it’s better that it just _be you_.” He held up fingers. “Two. You _do_ find him. Do you want to bring him back, after years ...where _ever_ he’s been… to a Voltron that literally _can’t_ function unless he’s in a state to lead it? Or do you want to bring him back to a group that can _take care of him_ , let him heal from everything you know the Empire’s _already_ done to him, and maybe take up this question again _after_ he’s had time to recover?”

The right words. He’d found the right words. Takashi hid a sigh of relief. Gods this kid was tangled. But Keith was giving it serious consideration, and the angry edge seemed to be gone. “But the others,” he said at last. “They don’t have any reason to trust me.”

“I’m not saying it won’t be something of an uphill climb,” said Takashi. “You’ll have to work hard, prove you’re serious. But they’re still your friends. If you just... _stay_...they’re willing to work with you. Make this whole thing work out. But you’ll have to commit. And they’ll have to see you commit.”

Keith exhaled, a long slow breath. “You’re not even going to stay to help, are you.”

“I thought about it,” Takashi. “But...honestly, I think the last thing you need is someone second guessing you. You seem to do that plenty all by yourself. I need to let Black go, and ...live my life, to be honest, for however long I have. I don’t think Shiro would be comfortable having me underfoot if you _do_ find him, any more than I’d be comfortable being around him. I’ll stay here a while longer, finish adjusting. Then I’ll probably join the rebel fleet. If I can remember anything else that might help you find Shiro, I’ll send word.”

“They’re _your_ friends too, you know,” Keith pointed out. “You shouldn’t just disappear.”

“Oh...I’m sure you’ll hear from me,” said Takashi dryly. “I don’t do sitting still very well.”

Keith paused. “...I won’t wear the black uniform,” he said.

“Not asking you to,” said Takashi. “Keith...I’m not asking you to _be him_. Neither are they. I’m not asking you to replace him, either, and neither are they. Be _you_. It’ll work out. And it’ll work out a lot faster once you accept that. Allura doesn’t wear blue, after all. She isn’t taking Lance’s place. If she can wear pink to honor the paladins of old, you can not-wear black to honor Shiro. Nobody minds.”

“And if I look like a galra?” asked Keith. There was something in the tone that suggested this might be part of what was eating at him.

“...Except you don’t?” said Takashi, puzzled. “I mean, I know the Blades said you’ve got galra blood, but -”

“But I was altered,” said Keith. “Ryner said so. Apparently to blend in on Earth. I’m still thinking about it, but...she said the Olkari could undo it. She gave me a cube.”

Well... _hell_. Takashi didn’t have particularly warm fuzzy feelings about galra. Quite the opposite. To a very, very large degree. “Why would you want to change?” he asked carefully.

“Because the Blade of Marmora can’t act in the light,” said Keith. “And it’s costing them. People need to see that it’s the empire, not the _galra people_ , that are their enemy. They need to see it _before_ the empire ends, or even galra that have spent their lives fighting Zarkon are going to be hunted down _by their own allies_. I thought I could help as a Blade. But if I’m not to be a Blade anymore...maybe I should do this.”

On the plus side, Keith was taking him seriously. On the down side, Keith was taking him seriously. Takashi had gotten pretty good at a poker face, though. It wasn’t _much_ weirder than the discussion about combining _Killbot Phantasm_ with the paladin training room for a ‘live action’ game. “I think...if you’re going to change what you look like, it should be because you want to look like that, and not for a political statement,” he said after a while. “I mean I get that you want to help them. But politics...people’s feelings change all the time. What you’re suggesting sounds more permanent than that.” And then, because a tiny horrified part of him couldn’t stop _imagining_ the options, asked, “What _would_ you look like?”

Keith fished in a pocket and took out two cubes. “This one’s a change-over-time thing,” he said. “Ryner said if they remove the locks, I’d change a little every time I went into a medical pod, until I got to the end point.” Turning the cube on, it was just a little hologram of Keith. As the image progressed, the skin got gradually more purple – though never very dark – as his eyes yellowed, and hair went from black to dark violet. It was hard to tell, in the tiny image, but Takashi thought maybe there _might_ be very fine purple fur here and there, and very tiny claws. But mostly, it just looked like Keith dipped in grape juice with yellow contact lenses.

“Huh,” said Takashi. It’d take adjusting to, and he was very _privately_ glad he wouldn’t have to. But it could’ve been a lot worse. It was galra, certainly, but not exactly nightmare inducing. “So what’s the other one, then?”

“Oh,” said Keith, turning the first cube off to put away. “She said it’s what I would’ve looked like, if I hadn’t been made to look human first, or something. Sort of like if someone breaks your nose, it’s never exactly the same as it was before. She told me I _could_ look like that but it’d take a lot of work because I didn’t grow that way. I’m still thinking about that one.”

Meaning, Takashi guessed, that he wasn’t comfortable showing it. Which probably meant Takashi didn’t _want_ to see it, because frankly, he didn’t need to think of Keith that way. “All right. Are you ready to go back to the others?”

“I don’t think I’m ready for this,” Keith admitted.

“That’s...probably normal,” said Takashi. “I wasn’t. Shiro definitely wasn’t. There’s a lot of winging it and hoping things don’t explode too badly, at first. But it gets easier.” He got to his feet. “If you’re willing to commit.”

“….I think so,” said Keith. The nervousness was audible, but the stance was ready, as he got to his feet. He didn’t back down, once he’d made his choice. “I guess...let’s go get started then.”

~Fin~

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there you have it. An alternative season 5, complete with its own set of resolutions and future season hooks. Hopefully it was an entertaining ride; from comments, I know more action was hoped for. For me, one of the active choices was to choose the most hopeful course. The show itself can’t always do that (we do love our conflict and drama), but once I decided that this fic’s Shiro was a clone he became, to me, a tragic figure to be saved rather than a villainous figure to be punished or corrected. 
> 
> From here, you can at least see the shape of how things would be moving forward within this alternate universe; a new arc of Keith trying to handle the team, a search for Shiro, and a side-arc of Takashi’s steps forward as someone new. Plus of course, ‘where is Sam Holt’, ‘what about Earth’, ‘what about the Blades’...sorry everyone, I just ran out of time!
> 
> Based on trailers and other hints, it looks like this was a very AU ride and the real season 5 won’t be anything like this. If there’s interest, I’ll do what I can to resolve the remaining plot lines within this ‘continuity’ in separate side stories that I can treat in a more ‘episodic’ manner. (That lets me do more action.) Comments, therefore, both welcome and likely to determine which threads get dealt with first.


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